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 making some noise
Making a story, making sure his clique stays up
That means when he puts it down
Tak's picking it up, let's go

Who the hell is he, anyway? He never really talks much
Never concerned with status
but still leaving 'em star-struck
Humbled through opportunities given despite the fact
That many misjudge him
'cause he makes a living from writing raps
Put it together himself, now the picture connects
Never asking for someone's help (Help)
or to get some respect ('Spect)
He's only focused on what he wrote
his will is beyond reach
And now it all unfolds the skill of an artist

This is twenty percent skill (Uh)
Eighty percent beer
Be a hundred percent clear, 'cause Ryu is ill (Next)
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 (Ha-ha)
This dude is the truth, now
everybody giving him guest spots
His stock's through the roof
I heard he fucking 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 spitting fire with Mike
Got him out the dryer, he's hot
found him in Fort Minor with Tak
What a fucking 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 making, patiently waiting to blow
Now, the record with Shinoda's taking 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, 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 living proof (Proof), got him rocking the booth
He'll get you buzzing quicker
than a shot of vodka with juice (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 trying, 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!