Remember Name
Fort Minor; Styles of Beyond
Popularity ยท Low
YouTube
Searching YouTube...
Lyrics
You ready?
Let's go
Yeah
For those of you that wanna know what we're all about
It's like this, yo, 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
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 no, 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 them starstruck
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, but he gets some respect
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, 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?
Then I heard him wreck it with the Crystal Method, "Name of the Game"
Came back, dropped "Megadef," took 'em to church
I like Bleach, man, Ryu had the stupidest verse
This dude is the truth, now everybody giving him guest spots
His stock's through the roof, I heard he fucking with Deathstar
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 spitting fire and mic
Got him out the dryer, he's hot, found him in Fort Minor with Tak
What a fucking nihilist porcupine
He's a fuck, he's a cunt, the type women wanna be with
And rappers hope he gets fucked
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, let him rock in the booth
He'll get you buzzing 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 his design is written in his head every time
Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme
And those other fellas 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