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