Lyrics Cheat Code - Sage Francis

Cheat Code

I don' talk about it really, but I’m still the illest
Still the baddest
Bless the apparatus I got silverback gorilla status
I pull the one red string that runs through your mattress
And make your bed springs sing a song of sadness
Sad sack of shit, pack your things and go
I’m hopping freight trains with nothing but a bindle (no hobo)
Little homie said ‘'YOLO'‘ — no props
I photobomb your photo ops busting out the robocop
Teach me how to dougie, kid, I’d rather do the knowledge
Now go home and get your shine box, you got a couple shoes to polish
Undergrad, this ain’t no humblebrag
I’ve sonned one too many Johnny come latelies, now baby come to dad
Cause he don’t need no cheat code to go beast mode
All he really needs is a M-I-C to freak flows
(I talk a lot of shit, but I can back it all the fuck up)
Bump a runner up.
If I’m not top billing, I’m show stealing
Sistine Chapel vandal type, tag the whole ceiling
Sick of hearing rap with no feeling
Sick of trauma porn addicts thinking they’re poets, that’s not soul bearing
Break yourself, fix your face
My heartbeat breaks the 808's, now update your database
So many Roc Raida tapes, not enough functional dual cassette decks
Who will you sweat next?
Stupid, I maneuvered through a school full of rednecks
Some people I was cool with despite a few death threats
Sacrificed a social life, food, and some rent checks
So I can grab a mic where the hell ever I like, and catch wreck
Yeah, I got swung on from time to time
Been cornered in some clubs just for speaking my mind
Mental midgets couldn’t come up with the lyrics or rhymes
Now I’m back popping more shit than ever and I’m fine
Find me if you need me, son, I’m easy to locate
You finally gonna feed me?
Then I’m eating that whole cake
Got licensing in movies and TV?
That’s so great
Don’t break your coke-nail trying to throw weight, okay?
Curb stomp your enthusiasm
Don’t expect resolutions just 'cause every movie has ‘em
Don’t expect revolution from the music
That is solely created for the sake of booty clapping
Fool, keep rapping
Release the kraken, beat back the back beat
Blending instrumentals, running my mouth at the track meet
My victory lap shows no mercy in this dojo
Spinning back-kick the Willie Bobo
Sweep the head.
Breaking bread with the best of 'em
Crumbs are left under the table for the rest of 'em
I don’t speak in metaphysics 'cause I’m not a metaphysicist
I’ll diss the living shit out of these so called lyricists
Fuck y’all
(You don’t like it? Kiss my ass you don’t like it, this my house
‘Cause we don’t need no cheat codes to go beast mode
All he really needs is a M-I-C to freak flow)
Excuse me for having ethics, I don’t eff with little toys
I learned to scratch on phonographs, got my ups with Kilroy
A killjoy?
You’re crying over spilled soy milk
I’ll destroy the shit brick house that your roids built
You walk tall ‘til I kick out your stilts
You look buff 'til I call your bluff and pull up your kilt
You’ve been padding your resume
While I’ve been rhyming about life like I’m rapping my death away
Stay well composed, figuratively, literally
They prefer a hashtag to metaphor, simile
Brag-rap to poetry, backtrack to symphony
Sweet talk the sour puss, press and push bitterly
The days of getting degraded, they ain’t diminish me
Oh uh, but they prefer the skinny me?
I’m an emotional leader of the emcees who sit in sulk
Fuck being complicated, Uncle Sage is difficult
It’s a cult of personality stuck in a false reality
It’s all a bunch of mall punk and dance club rap to me
Swagger jacking, black cracker, battle rap has gone minstrel
Born on third base acting like they hit a triple
With a wiffleball bat walking pretty
Talking gritty with no app, in fact, it’s all theory
I promised your death threats don’t actually kill me
But bite my dog and I’mma scratch your kitty
It’s like that, y’all, it’s like that, y’all
It’s like that-that-that, it’s like that, y’all
It’s like that, y’all, it’s like that, y’all
It’s like that-that-that, it’s like that, y’all
Talk shit