Non-Prophets - That Ain't Right lyrics

[Hook] Wasting away at your job (that ain't right) Are you fronting on my squad? (that ain't right) And you're always acting hard (that ain't right) Nah, that ain't right, no no no Trying to pull my card (that ain't right) Continuing this facade (that ain't right) Calling yourself God (that ain't right) Nah, that ain't right, sh** ain't like that [Verse 1 - Sage Francis] While emcees were burning ism I earned degrees in journalism Learning the system and about how freedom of speech is worth k**ing 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 Ann Landers Transmit personal problems like head lice in bandanas The big man on campus has delusions of grandeur 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 candlelight vigils for Matthew Sheppard While you put out another "f** you, f*ggot" record [Hook] [Verse 2 - Sage Francis] I blame my hate mail on typographical errors, correct the misspellings 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 Talking about, "no one goes to shows no more, they're too crowded" So they stay home and burn sh**, then they say "I downloaded your life off the net, totally worth it" It's 2000, time to stop acting like a**holes It ain't about backpackers or cash flow Fashionable afros, salon-style dreads or frat clothes And it ain't about these f**ing loud mouths shouting "battle!" African medallions didn't sell platinum albums That's part of the reason why you think hip-hop died It was here before you were. It'll be here in the future Life's not a b**h, she's just sick of being personified That Ain't Right [hook] [Verse 3 - Sage Francis] This household is filled with the half-deads They've got a mouthful of pills because they're crack heads They shout that I'm ill, but they're doubtful of sk** With the type of stabbing that turns my back red I don't blast lead, I write until my pen explodes All over fashion dreads and your Ecko clothes I don't listen when they say "sh** ain't ever gonna change" And they say I ain't got no soul