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sage francis - underground for dummies lyrics

and you’ll know it was me by the trail of demos
spare me the details, e-mails, memos
dookie-gold chain letter to whom it may concern
put this around your neck until your hangin’ on my every word

stalkin’, walkin’ in my big black boots
i’m the diy artist with thick gr-ss roots
had a couple managers as a youth
i was too young to know better but i was like
“what does a manager do?”
now one of them he saw dollar signs in my skin color
the other, he said to keep it undercover
post-vip posse, pre-internet n-z- era
powers of suggestion suggested i be what i’m not, and that’s not me ever
from lasienega to meadowbrook drive
never looked surprised
cut to the chase with metal hooks and knives
now it’s battle time, i stepped in the arena
thirteen-year-old gladiator freak with a fever for the flavor of a fight on the mic
+follow the leader+
mr. chuck was the surrogate father
krs-one, the teacher
there i was, sneakin’ into clubs
beat an emcee to the punch over instrumentals dubbed
from tape deck to tape deck
pause tape mix at breakneck speed
the only whitey in sight
that doesn’t make me realer than you, or faker than you
but i’m authentic, forget it
started breakin’ rules
ten years later still hadn’t stopped
won the biggest battle in a metallica shirt before the alb-m dropped
a week later, smashed the trophy at a show
it was takin’ up the sp-ce that i needed to grow

pop pop goes the weasel (the weasel)
drop drop goes the easel (the easel)
this is hip-hop for the people
stop callin’ it emo (waah)

i know a kid who thinks he’s hip-hop ‘cause he buys it
i know a kid who thinks he’s hip-hop ‘cause he never buys sh-t
underground or mainstream
some are bound to change teams
y’all weren’t doin’ this dirt
when jeru +came clean+

before the freddie foxxx conflict with dmx
around the time when jay-z and nas’ girl had s-x
i used to wake up every morning on a hard wooden floor
livin’ in brooklyn with a car i couldn’t afford
and if i wasn’t hangin’ out in front of fat beats records,
i was in the factory, mailing out my 12-inches
nowadays, the djs don’t even spin wax
so f-ck a promo copy, buddy, you can download the track
seratooo promo-s-xual laptop
a hollow existence in a bottle
ya sip-sip then swallow
i tripped quick, then followed a path that made sense
started out with a live band then worked with turn-tablists
now i strike a match with the back of my front teeth
and light up the stage with just speech

i remember the days ken and dave let me crash on their couch
and i saved what i could and put the cash in my mouth
when i played in my hood i had a fraction of outs
‘til atmosphere put me on and now i’m packin’ the house
since the mid-80s this has been a game of cat and mouse
it’s funny hearin’ all the sh-t these rappers brag about
knowin’ all of them are walkin’ around with m-ssive doubts
talkin’ bout it’s only status and platinum plaques that count

pop pop goes the weasel (the weasel)
drop drop goes the easel (the easel)
this is hip-hop for the people (the people)
stop calling it emo (wah)

irony is dead, it’s so motherf-cking dead, i was there by its deathbed
and the last words that it said (was what?)
was “whiiiiite booyyyy”

i’m +still sick+ with an independent record label
i built quick just when i got +sick of waiting tables+
then in the blink of an eye i +waged war+
+as a known unsoldier+ with a soul you can’t pay for
i ran a business on my own two legs
known to beg if i needed to with home grown bootlegs.
cut and paste images of my face and then sloppily placed ’em in a case.
strange famous! i stayed +true when school was in session.+
went to college to buy time—that sh-t was expensive.
so i shamelessly self-promoted
the radio station would open doors and opportunities
eventually made it to oakland
where anticon. accepted me with open hands
+journals got personal+ on a one dollar advance.
non-prophets! we had a hope that a uk label smashed
so i crossed out my eyes and signed to epitaph
this is the hustle of an emcee
the +distrust is healthy+
in a dirty industry where the promises are empty
i’m more honest than friendly
more handsome than s-xy
let me bring you up to speed, +humans do a dance that’s deadly+

- sage francis lyrics

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