Rippin' at the seams, ready to bust,
|
It's like one mississippi, two mississippi, rush.
|
Fiend smiffin' mine, at the scrimmage line
|
I got the drug game and game of life all intertwined
|
So I sit behind the sensei and study state of mind
|
I chase the line with loaded needles and blaze a kinda come down
|
Instead I chase the dragon, sun up to sun down,
|
With no guns, just lungs set to collapse,
|
Hey yo, run rocked rhymes and ??? john wrecked raps
|
Get back, I stalk my ex same as a Simpson
|
And leave her damaged goods like the financial district
|
Can I, kick it with gold feet, from upstate to george beach
|
Anonymous john, though stupid fuck, nobody knows me
|
Act like we're homies, I'll change the whole style up
|
OCD got my head in a ten-car pile up
|
Rock paper drop the money and pick the file up
|
I'm meltin' rocks for research, how to die quick
|
Fuck a sidekick, gettin' wrapped up in violence
|
Bullet to the brain, pull it sound of silence
|
Let's paint the room with my memory
|
Paint me an effigy
|
Shoot me up with smallpox and leprosy
|
Yo cousin, no need to disguise it
|
At night I'm drinkin vials of the west nile virus
|
|
(Chorus)
|
Love (for raw rhymes and breaks)
|
Love (for no books and crates)
|
Love (for however long it takes)
|
|
(Sage)
|
I never chose the path of least resistance
|
??? know the math and keep the distance
|
Forever go back to speakin' without conviction
|
I don't respect the craft if they couldn't know the difference
|
Dig this, this is a full time love affair
|
Part time suckers, they come unprepared
|
Like as if this was a mistress, for them to fuck around with
|
This ain't no means of income it's an outlet (outlet)
|
Now the counterfeit cash clans get thrown out in the trash can
|
Internet b-boys are doing a flash dance
|
Audio sound scans, audience claps hands
|
Funky cos I never dummied it down for the rap fans
|
But what's up with the forced vernacular?
|
Fuck gangster talk, do an AIDS walk through Africa
|
Boasting a Porsche but can't afford a Maxima,
|
Your song's full of chorus, you still think you a rapper huh?
|
In with the out crowd, down with the upper echelon
|
I'll be a handy man once my legs are gone
|
And I feel like hell on wheels
|
Seeking salvation any place that sells hot meals
|
Teflon steel, touch tone phones and tin cans
|
Recycling bins and get-rich-quick scams
|
I just, ripped my pants on the last fence I jumped
|
And look I gave the washed up just wasn't intense (???)
|
Trust I'm workin' on it, the girl called it quits
|
Heard her talkin' shit like
|
I ain't there, I ain't care and life ain't fair
|
Well guess what baby, life ain't and them's the breaks
|
|
(chorus)
|
|
-----------------
|
Love, Love, Love (Non-Prophets)
|
| Sage Francis |
