Remember the Name (feat. Styles of Beyond) - Live from Sessions@AOL

Three, four
(Fort Minor) Uh huh
(Fort Minor) Get a chip here
(Fort Minor) Turn it up, let's go
Turn it up ya, turn it up ya
Turn it up ya, turn it up ya
Turn it up ya, turn it up ya
Turn it up (this is how we do it, it's like this, come on)

This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name

Mike, he doesn't need his name up in lights
He just wants to be heard whether it's the beat or the mic
He feels so unlike everybody else, alone
In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him

But fuck 'em, he knows the code
It's not about the salary, it's all about reality and makin' some noise
Makin' the story, makin' sure his clique stays up
That means when he puts it down Tak's pickin' it up, let's go

Who the hell is he anyway? He never really talks much
Never concerned with status but still leavin' them star struck
Humbled through opportunities given despite the fact
That many misjudge him because he makes a livin' from writin' raps

Put it together himself, now the picture connects
Never askin' for someone's help, to get some respect
He's only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach
And now when it all unfolds, the skill of an artist

This is twenty percent skill, eighty percent fear
Be a hundred percent clear, 'cause Ryu is ill
Who would've thought he'd be the one to set the west in flames?
And I heard him wreckin' with the Crystal Method, name of the game

Came back dropped Megadef, took 'em to church
I'm like 'bleach, man, why you have the stupidest verse?
This dude is the truth, now everybody givin' him guest spots
His stock's through the roof I heard he fuckin' with S-dot

This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name

They call him "Ryu, The Sick" and he's spittin' fire with Mike
Got him out the dryer he's hot found him in Fort Minor with Tak
A fucking annihilist porcupine, he's a piece of a rock
The type women want to be with and rappers hope he gets shot

Eight years in the makin' patiently waitin' to blow
Now the record with Shinoda's takin' over the globe
Got a partner in crime, his shit is equally dope
You won't believe the kind of shit that comes out of this kid's throat

Tak, he's not your everyday on the block
He knows how to work with what he's got, making his way to the top
He often gets a comment on his name, people keep asking him
"Was it given at birth or does it stand for an acronym?"

No, he's livin' proof got him rockin' the booth
He'll get you buzzin' quicker than a can of vodka with juice
Him and his crew are known around as one of the best
Dedicated to what they doin' give a hundred percent

Forget Mike, nobody really knows how or why he works so hard
It seems like he's never got time
Because he writes every note and he writes every line
And I've seen him at work when that light goes on in his mind

It's like a design is written in his head every time
Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme
And those motherfuckers he runs with, those kids that he signed
Ridiculous, without even tryin', how do they do it?

This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name

This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name