Th-the devil,
|
Th-th-the devil,
|
[repeat x4 then continues until "settle their differences"]
|
|
The devil only exists because of your belief in him,
|
Same goes for that other guy,
|
I believe the sun is simply reflecting the shine from the moon (word?)
|
Stealing its spotlight, they'll have a cockfight at noon,
|
To settle their differences,
|
At midnight, rematch,
|
To stir up their similarities on turntables,
|
That chicken scratch proved to be unreadable,
|
The determining factor in who gets the pitch to control the tides,
|
No one decides a victor unless they give a fair listen to both the sides,
|
We're low-lives,
|
We go blind jerking off to the eclipse,
|
The sun was pulling cheap shots doing commercial body tricks,
|
Behind the back,
|
Under the leg,
|
I think he even did a headspin,
|
On a crossfader that sounded whack,
|
But looked excellent,
|
All of the sudden it gets dim,
|
The crater face steps in,
|
Puts mexican drumbreaks on the Technics,
|
He's like "Let's begin",
|
He conducted an orchestra so dope the sun started sweatin' him,
|
I guess he'd expected to win on pure artistic merit,
|
Composing complex plays with nothin but soundbytes,
|
Burned out the lights,
|
Made MCs too self conscious quit the master mics,
|
For a thousand nights,
|
It continued without a single slip up,
|
Except once the record skipped,
|
But it kinda sounded cool,
|
And fit within the rhythm he was juggling,
|
Poly-rhythms out of country western albums spinning,
|
It is plain that he had come to win,
|
But as always due to corrupt judging,
|
They drew a tie,
|
Now it's do or die.
|
|
The sun was like,
|
no no no,
|
The moon was like,
|
go go go,
|
[repeat x3]
|
|
And when the sun was chosen,
|
I came to the conclusion,
|
This guy doesn't know what he's doin'.
|
|
God's not a woman,
|
He's a big white guy in the sky,
|
And the deserts are reflections of his eyes,
|
He doesn't cry for us,
|
But when he does,
|
It's cause he's drunk,
|
(Say What?),
|
God's not a woman,
|
He's a big white guy in the sky,
|
And the deserts are reflections of his eyes,
|
He doesn't cry for us,
|
But when he does,
|
It's cause he's drunk,
|
And he's always fucked up,
|
Bottoms up,
|
|
God's not a woman,
|
He's a bitch.
|
|
Th-the devil,
|
Th-th-the devil,
|
[repeat x4]
|
|
This is one hand clapping alone,
|
This is the smallest violin,
|
Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem,
|
The devil is the fucking white man,
|
This is one hand clapping alone,
|
This is the smallest violin,
|
Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem,
|
The white man (the white man).
|
(Th-th-the devil)
|
|
-----------------
|
Sun Vs. Moon
|
| Sage Francis |
