That Ain't Right

Non-prophets

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    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!
    You're in limbo? WELL WE'RE IN LIMBO TOO!

    Contact the dead to get advice from Anne Landers
    Transmit personal problems like head lice in bandanas
    The big man on campus has delusions of grandure
    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? (you're jignorant, baby!)
    Dance to this rhythm. (Go ahead, baby!)

    Ah, forget it. It's actually accepted for rappers to have no ethics
    Their albums would benefit if they put in half the effort
    I attended candle light vigils for Matthew Sheppard
    While you put out another "fuck you, faggot" record

    That Ain't Right

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    I blame my hate mail on typographical errors
    Correct the mispellings and then send out thank you notes for the love letters
    Accept rejection when I get a return to sender
    Reject acceptance when the girl's got an agenda

    I've entered this Brave New World of true cowards
    Talkin' 'bout, "No one goes to shows no more. They're too crowded."
    So they stay home and burn shit
    Then they say, "I downloaded your life off the net. Totally worth it."

    It's 2003. Time to stop acting like assholes
    It ain't about backpackers or cash flow
    Fashionable afros, salon style dreds or frat clothes
    And it ain't about these fuckin' loud mouths shoutin, "BATTLE!"

    African medalions didn't sell platinum albums
    That's part of the reason why you think hiphop died
    It was here before you were. It'll be here in the future
    Life's not a bitch, she's just sick of being personified

    That Ain't Right

    This household is filled with the half-deads
    They've got a mouthfull of pills because they're crack heads
    They shout that I'm ill, but they're doubtful of skill
    With the type of stabbing that turns my back red

    I don't blast lead, I write until my pen explodes
    All over fashion dreds and your Echo clothes
    I don't listen when they say, "Shit ain't ever gonna change,"
    and they say I ain't got no soooooouuuuuul..

    Información de la canción

    Composición: Sage Francis

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