Personal Journalist(其他) - Sage Francis

He left with deep breaths in each chest that needs less innovating
Because they're still debating over what rhyme skill is
Got Sick of
Waiting for time killers to get over their murder raps
Then he sold his own shirt off his back
For cheap exposure
He'd seek for closure but stayed open minded
Always seemed to keep composure peeking over both his eyelids
Speaking vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra-violence
Teaching others how to be more loving through brotherly guidance
A bleeding soldier knows the science
He does the math quick and writes
Without having to think twice
Without asking for advice
Letting the scalps peel
Having brains picked by head lice before the scabs heal
His death mask conceals his face paint
It feels like a safe place but it ain't
Feels like it safety seals fates but it don't
He's not a real saint
Just another one of those religious political jokes
And that's not even half of the nutshell cats are compelled to crack open to extract his blood cells from
When he comes back from hell again
You'll have a few bones to pick with a fractured skeleton
Sage Francis
Anti-socialite
Secret Admirer
Student Loaner
Continental
Drifter Professional
Bootlegger
Spin Doctor
Self Referentialist
Road Runner
Personal Journalist
Word is the worthless wordsmiths were conversing impersonal twists
Heard they're concerned with making the
Earth shift
These kid games are silly
When all art is signed anonymous
He'll turn that
Big Bang Theory into a
Small Pop
Hypothesis
Sage Francis
Death Merchant 1968-2001
Devoted son father to none
Husband to something soulless and didn't spend his life with who he loved
The hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond studded glove His time is up
He's still the type poised to make a come back
Kill the white noise until the sun's black
Moonwalk around
New York City and get murdered by flocks of sheep
Who square dance circles inside a box of beats
The California
Dream sequences end quick
Couldn't find middle ground in little towns on some
Midwest trip
He stood for something but fell for every trick in the book so he stopped believing
In an avant garden of
Eden Get off the cross
Of course we need the wood to burn a
Godless heathen
Catch him red handed only if his palms are bleeding
Sage Francis
Non-Prophet
Artificially
Intelligent
Avant Guardian
Angel Dust
Mite 1968-2001
It's been a pleasure
It's been a pleasure
But get out of my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face