Remember the Name (feat. Styles of Beyond)

You ready? Let's go
Yeah
For those of you that wanna know what we're all about
It's like this, y'all, c'mon

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' a 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' 'em starstruck
Humble through opportunities given, despite the fact
That many misjudge him 'cause he makes a livin' from writin' raps
Put it together himself, now the picture connects
Never asking for someone's help, or to get some respect
He's only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach
And now it all unfolds through the skill of an artist

This is twenty percent skill (uh), eighty percent beer
Be a hundred percent clear, 'cause Ryu is ill (thanks)
Who would've thought he'd be the one to set the west in flames?
Then I heard him wreck it with The Crystal Method, "Name of the Game" (uh-huh)
Came back, dropped "Megadef," took 'em to church
I like "Bleach," man, Ryu had 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, he's sick and he's spittin' fire, and Mike
Got him out the dryer, he's hot, found him in Fort Minor with Tak
What a fuckin' nihilist porcupine, he's a prick, he's a cock
The type women wanna 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
He's 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, makin' his way to the top
He often gets a comment on his name, people keep askin' 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 shot of vodka with juice
Him and his crew are known around as one of the best
Dedicated to what they do and 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, the 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

Yeah, Fort Minor, M Shinoda, Styles of Beyond
Ryu, Takbir, Machine Shop