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