SAGE FRANCIS


Inner Conflict Lyrics

I conflict with those who are tricked by the gimmick
market and can't think with logic. Logics are in the
distance so I'm makin a pop hit hip hop is askin
themselves why this kid talks shit it's just I'm never
breakin even so I throw an art fit sick of rappers
sayin' fresh but stink like armpit and couldn't test a
single member that's within our clique. I'll bring it
to you right now but you don't really want it. I'm born
to the sauce that make ya heart skip, if you rolled as
much as you're told you'd get car sick. a constant my
pissed off audience is at your concert, sittin in the
front row, get wet with what they all spit. I'll be
standin in the back hittin ya with a tall stick. I
could drown your ass in oil and still ya not slick.
Winnin over your fan base make em say "aw shit" right
in ya damn face. Confidence, you lost it.

Now these super thuggy guns say bring that hard shit
... Inner conflict.
Simple simple Simon Simon says to sing the pop hit...
Inner conflict.
Corny white boys just want jokes, this isn't a comic
strip... Inner conflict.
Still I bring the conflict, I sing of conflict, I'm in
a conflict... I'd rather be artistic.

Painting pictures with my words while freaking a tar
pit, you're broad strokes are filed with lead, so what
you're eating's toxic. With this poisonous self
destruction you're feeling, stop it. Taking more than
god's name in vein making your beating heart quit. Put
you on the floor then pull the carpet out from under
your feet and watch you drop quick, flying through the
airwaves hit you in a drop kick on the WWF wrought his
war tip, run up in your crib and watch that horse trip,
playing healthy mind games that keep her thoughts sick
the plot is not the only thing I think is in this porn
flick, once I'm done with her you really think she
wants your dick?

That's not how I'd rather be.
This is not who I would rather be.
This is not what I would rather be.

I am not lit hittin on some club hoppin' bar chick, I
star to flick name dropping on some super star trick,
only for the sake of seein her jump on the jock quick
simply get that cock trick spit what your mom drip.
Back to these bastards who claim they got grip, take
your finger off the safety and let your glock click.
Aim for the back of my fist, make it your target,
stigmata. I let the blood from my palm drip, I've got
to cold and sober(?) socials in the Arctic, I'll
single-handedly rip through your family make it look
like a mob hit, better stiff it if your biscuit got
limp, I'll go down head first like Fred Durst for a hot
lick of this lollipop stick.

Sick of suckers thinking they can balk it. Hip-hop rip
offs over a guitar lick. That little bitch has slit his
wrists with his guitar pick. I stick to my convictions,
it don't make me a convict, I compliment only those who
deserve the prospect, never tried the chronic chucked
the tire tonic, not your normal human assuming I'm
bionic, bout to blow up listen to my inner time bomb
click.

Now these super thuggy guns say bring that hard shit
... Inner conflict.
Simple simple Simon Simon says to sing the pop hit...
Inner conflict.
Corny white boys just want jokes, this isn't a comic
strip... Inner conflict.
Still I bring the conflict, I sing of conflict, I'm in
a conflict... I'd rather be artistic

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Record Label(s): 2009 Strange Famous Records
Official lyrics by

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