[Hook] Wasting away at your job that aint right Are you fronting on my squad? that aint right And youre always acting hard that aint right Nah, that aint right, no no no Trying to pull my card that aint right Continuing this facade that aint right Calling yourself God that aint right Nah, that aint right, shit aint like that [Verse 1 Sage Francis] While emcees were burning ism I earned degrees in journalism Learning the system and about how freedom of speech is worth killing for But watch what you say in all those interviews Youre in limbo? Well, were in limbo too Contact the dead to get advice from Ann Landers Transmit personal problems like head lice in bandanas The big man on campus has delusions of grandeur Doing a thesis on ebonics, unconsciously using poor grammar Your mannerisms are suitable to cancer victims How much opposition does it take for your stance or position To dance to this rhythm? youre jignorant, baby Dance to this rhythm go ahead, baby Ah, forget it its actually accepted for rappers to have no ethics Their albums would benefit if they put in half the effort I attended candlelight vigils for Matthew Sheppard While you put out another fuck you, faggot record [Hook] [Verse 2 Sage Francis] I blame my hate mail on typographical errors, correct the misspellings And then send out thank you notes for the love letters Accept rejection when I get a return to sender Reject acceptance when the girls got an agenda Ive entered this brave new world of true cowards Talking about, no one goes to shows no more, theyre too crowded So they stay home and burn shit, then they say I downloaded your life off the net, totally worth it Its 2000, time to stop acting like assholes It aint about backpackers or cash flow Fashionable afros, salonstyle dreads or frat clothes And it aint about these fucking loud mouths shouting battle! African medallions didnt sell platinum albums Thats part of the reason why you think hiphop died It was here before you were. Itll be here in the future Lifes not a bitch, shes just sick of being personified That Aint Right [hook] [Verse 3 Sage Francis] This household is filled with the halfdeads Theyve got a mouthful of pills because theyre crack heads They shout that Im ill, but theyre doubtful of skill With the type of stabbing that turns my back red I dont blast lead, I write until my pen explodes All over fashion dreads and your Ecko clothes I dont listen when they say shit aint ever gonna change And they say I aint got no soul
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