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Non Prophets

That Ain`t Right

804 3 часа назад

Текст песни Non Prophets - That Ain`t Right

Non Prophets - That Ain`t Right слова песни

While emcees were burning ism I earned degrees in journalismLearning the system and about how freedom of speech is worth killing forBut 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 LandersTransmit personal problems like head lice in bandanasThe big man on campus has delusions of grandureDoing a thesis on ebonics, unconsciously using poor grammarYour mannerisms are suitable to cancer victimsHow much opposition does it take for your stance or positionTo 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 ethicsTheir albums would benefit if they put in half the effortI attended candle light vigils for Matthew SheppardWhile you put out another "fuck you, faggot" recordThat Ain`t RightI blame my hate mail on typographical errorsCorrect the mispellings and then send out thank you notes for the love lettersAccept rejection when I get a return to senderReject acceptance when the girl`s got an agendaI`ve entered this Brave New World of true cowardsTalkin` `bout, "No one goes to shows no more. They`re too crowded."So they stay home and burn shitThen they say, "I downloaded your life off the net. Totally worth it."It`s 2003. Time to stop acting like assholesIt ain`t about backpackers or cash flowFashionable afros, salon style dreds or frat clothesAnd it ain`t about these fuckin` loud mouths shoutin, "BATTLE!"African medalions didn`t sell platinum albumsThat`s part of the reason why you think hiphop diedIt was here before you were. It`ll be here in the futureLife`s not a bitch, she`s just sick of being personifiedThat Ain`t RightThis household is filled with the half-deadsThey`ve got a mouthfull of pills because they`re crack headsThey shout that I`m ill, but they`re doubtful of skillWith the type of stabbing that turns my back redI don`t blast lead, I write until my pen explodesAll over fashion dreds and your Echo clothesI don`t listen when they say, "Shit ain`t ever gonna change,"and they say I ain`t got no soooooouuuuuul..

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