HipHop Lyrics:
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"Nothing at last is sacred. Oh how the great have fallen. What have I done to myself? It's been way too long!"
We need to reacquaint. Things are different now, I ain't the same man I was.
Hi, how are you doing? I'm new and improves with even less to lose.
A collector's edition version of a virgin drink ordering cocktale teller
Gone way wrong...to the point of no rerun.
Over the edge and burned out before I even got my shine.
Holding my head in pure doubt.
Out of insight. Out of mind-
ful things to shout or rhyme about.
Yeah, I know I was supposed to change the world and all,
But it looks like the world got to me first.
If you can't beat em, join 'em...
Then hurt the team by beating yourself.
I'm different...in a different way. The only thing that stays the same is change.
While people claim their states, I state my claims.
Sage Francis made a name for himself. For the record my mother calls me Paul,
Which was my father's middle name, but Ray
Stepped in and raised me. It's crazy, but this is a game I play
called "Shut the fuck uuuuuuup!"
Don't bother calling me at all because I'm not answering.
Is that a voice-mail-bomb-threat or a broken promise I'm mishandling?
Gambling away my money issues, somebody owes me big bucks.
My career depends on explosive vacuums sucking me in and blowing me up.
Poetry struck a nerve in the listenership. Spoken word then got 'em all interested.
Now I don't have to serve ice cream to little kids, I serve emcees who think they're rippin' it,
And poets who think they're somehow significant. Meanwhile both are loud and ignorant,
And don't know how to speak to a crowd in an intimate environment.
I am different. In a different way. The only thing that stays the same is change.
While people claim their states, I state my claims.
I'm a quiet natured player who outwardly hates the game. I shake what I got, which is a jingly pocket,
I do my mini-market research and make noise for myself when I walk quick.
I talk with authority while I question it.
When I ask, "Who am I?" I'm left guessing,
But if you're a poor man's version of ANYTHING
It is your self-perception.
Growing up in a microscopic town prepared me well for this petrii dish,
Where talk is invisible to the eye and they hate the guy they're speaking with.
I'm a real vegetarian: No chicken...not even fish.
I'm a real underground rapper: My tape quality sucks, my records are warped and my CD skips.
Lady Luck is a greedy bitch with itchy palms and a case of the gimmes.
I've got an outtie if she's got an inny, I'll clean her pipes and then sweep her chimney.
The beat that's in me is polyrhythmic. You're only 60 heart beats per minute.
A human second-hand-me-down-to-earth-guy who will thriftshop-lift his hiphop.
I may be getting too big for my britches, but I paid my dues when the cost was climbing.
If I burn too many bridges I'll never get off of this awful island.
As long as I've been rhyming, they only started listening,
Because for a while they didn't like how I wouldn't smoke the pot that I was pissin' in.
Plus I had no dead homies to pour out the liquor I don't drink.
You can flash your shiny objects in front of my eyes and I won't blink.
I'm motherfucking different. Oooohhhh yyyeeeaaahhhh...
I'm motherfucking different. Oooohhhh yyyeeeaaahhhh...
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