NON-PROPHETS - That Ain't Right lyrics

While emcees were burning ism I earned degrees in journalism

Learning the system and about how freedom of speech is worth killing 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 Anne Landers

Transmit personal problems like head lice in bandanas

The big man on campus has delusions of grandure

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 candle light vigils for Matthew Sheppard

While you put out another "fuck you, faggot" record

That Ain't Right

I blame my hate mail on typographical errors

Correct the mispellings 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

Talkin' 'bout, "No one goes to shows no more. They're too crowded."

So they stay home and burn shit

Then they say, "I downloaded your life off the net. Totally worth it."

It's 2003. Time to stop acting like assholes

It ain't about backpackers or cash flow

Fashionable afros, salon style dreds or frat clothes

And it ain't about these fuckin' loud mouths shoutin, "BATTLE!"

African medalions didn't sell platinum albums

That's part of the reason why you think hiphop died

It was here before you were. It'll be here in the future

Life's not a bitch, she's just sick of being personified

That Ain't Right

This household is filled with the half-deads

They've got a mouthfull of pills because they're crack heads

They shout that I'm ill, but they're doubtful of skill

With the type of stabbing that turns my back red

I don't blast lead, I write until my pen explodes

All over fashion dreds and your Echo clothes

I don't listen when they say, "Shit ain't ever gonna change,"

and they say I ain't got no soooooouuuuuul.