Guest
[Chorus] 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 Makin the 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 them star struck Humbled through opportunities given to him despite the fact That many misjudge him because he makes a livin from writin raps Put it together himself, now the picture connects Never askin for someone's help, to get some respect He's only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach And now when it all unfolds, the skill of an artist It's just twenty percent skill Eighty percent fear Be one hundred percent clear cause Ryu is ill Who would've thought that he'd be the one to set the west in flames And I heard him wreckin with The Crystal Method, “Name Of The Game“ Came back dropped Megadef, took em to church I like bleach man, why you have the stupidest verse? This dude is the truth, now everybody be givin him guest spots His stock's through the roof I heard he fuckin with S. Dot! [Chorus] They call him Ryu The Sick And he's spittin fire with Mike Got him out the dryer he's hot Found him in Fort Minor with Tak Been a fuckin annihilist porcupine He's a prick, he's a cock The type woman want to be with, and rappers hope he get shot
