| Sage Francis is out of it. |
| He done switched his tone
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| Closet Alcoholics Anonymous, bitch, I drink alone
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| Nobody knows so I press on.
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| I go to Fugazi shows requesting Minor Threat songs
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| Drunk driving for Exxon. |
| Don’t slalom the icebergs
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| It’s smooth sailing til the boat bottom bites curbs
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| No problem, but my sight’s blurred. |
| Don’t serve me drinks
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| Because I’ll write the words that make this whole world sink
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| I’m bitter, sweet and sour, shit, I need to shower, shit and shave
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| Stuck to the TV and completely out of it these days
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| I’ve got a CD. |
| F**k the counterfeit DJs
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| Who first fronted on our vinyl then bought Bounce off EBAY
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| I’m sick of headwraps… they meditate on rhymes
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| Swing lead bats… to elevate their minds
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| Get back… Emcees ain’t f**king righteous
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| Craig Mack ain’t never got his meat lumped like this
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| I am a nightmare walkin', psychopath stalkin'
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| Natalie Portman with a blank tape in my walkman
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| Talkin to myself over instrumental cassettes
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| The essential steps of having graphic, telepathic mental sex
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| Mind f**k me or get the hell off of my head case
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| Suck it up or spit it out. |
| How’s that medicated bed taste?
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| I replaced the sheets. |
| I love ripping off pillow cases
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| Breaking teeth, shoving lip glass in your little faces
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| Like that! |
| «Do you like that?»
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| «If you had hands attached to your arms would you fight back?»
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| I hijacked your daughter’s school bus
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| Dismantled ridiculous religions that supply Gods that you trust
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| Whose plush style of living and senseless spending
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| Is eh-heh-heh-heh-endinnnnnnng
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| Sage Francis manages bandages on cancerous mannequins
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| Standing in pajamas with bananas and candid cameras
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| Damage (Damage) You know what I’m saying
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| (Damage) (Damage) Yeah, do it with me! |
| (Every chance I’m doing damage)
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| Come on y’all! |
| (Damage) You know the damage (Damage) (SMILE FOR ME!
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| — BRUISE YOUR FACE AND DANCE!)
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| This music’s got abusive roots, fists hit my face on rough nights
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| You think bruises are cute but, trick, you ain’t my blood type
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| Some strike the wrong nerve (the way they converse is weak.)
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| Others write with strong words (they can’t build the nerve to speak.)
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| Verbally inept except when subjects are expected
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| Preconceived conversation styles. |
| «That small talk shit was written kid!»
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| Caught me. |
| Watch me freestyle this bowel movement
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| You won’t hear no «ooohs» or «ahhhs» when I choose to use no vowels STUPID!"
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| Thought I was kidding when I wasn’t, bitch?
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| Shit is HOT. |
| Plumbers unclog my toilet wearing over mitts
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| Your mommy thinks I’m dope… there's no pretending I’m not
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| Put hockey sticks in your throat… from the penalty box
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| Enemies jock while their girl shows athletic support
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| Having sex for the sport of it on basketball courts
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| Maintaining my composure when game night is over
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| And I don’t strike a pose… I strike a poseur. |
| Doin' DAMAGE
|
| I’m doing Damage (uh), Damage (uh), Damage (uh), Damage (uh)
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| Damage (uh), Damege (uh), Destruction (terror), Motherf**ker say WHAT?
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| (ONE) It’s nothing wrong with me
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| (TWO) It’s nothing wrong with me
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| (THREE) It’s nothing wrong with me
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| RRRAArrrrrggghhhhhhh.
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| I quickly enter your honey dip, strip ends from your money clip
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| Joe Beats you to death with the shit end of his ugly stick
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| Fighting drama queens in the white college scene
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| Wiping pockets clean when we make them run their shit like soccer teams
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| After they’re chased with an axe… half of their face’ll collapse
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| You ain’t copped it when Non-Prophets dropped bass on wax?
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| Well, I’m your typical hiphop political figure
|
| But I’m not left wing OR right wing. |
| I’m the middle finger
|
| And Joe’s a sick, demented, jaded mind reader
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| Who shoots the shit with a nickle-plated 9 MiliMeter
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| When it’s time to rock SHUT THE F**K UP
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| I never had writer’s block and Joey’s never been in a production slump
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| (Jump, Jump) It’s totally worth it now
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| (Jump, Jump) Don’t listen when they say it’s not
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| (Jump, Jump) It always hurts coming down
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| This is MY house, you don’t like it? |
| Get the f**k off of my rooftop
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| (Yeah, yeah, cousin? coming through your area, we’re Non Prophets
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| Sage Francis on the lyrics, Joe Beats on production
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| And my man DJ Mek-a-lek on the cut, bring it!)
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| (ONE) It’s nothing wrong with me
|
| (TWO) It’s nothing wrong with me
|
| (THREE) It’s nothing wrong with me
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| RrrAArrrrrggghhhhhhh.
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| I do damage
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| Everychance I do Damage |