Sage Francis Verse 1:
Sage Francis is out of it. He done switched his tone.
Closet Alcoholics Anonymous, b****, I drink alone.
Nobody knows so I press on...
I go to Fugazi shows requesting Minor Threat songs.
Drunk driving for Exxon. Don't slalom the icebergs.
It's smooth sailing til the boat bottom b***s curbs.
No problem, but my sight's blurred. Don't serve me drinks,
Because I'll write the words that make this whole world sink.
I'm bitter, sweet and sour, s***, I need to shower, s*** and shave.
Stuck to the TV and completely out of it these days.
I've got a CD. f*** the counterfeit DJs,
Who first fronted on our vinyl then bought Bounce off EBAY.
I'm sick of headwraps...they meditate on rhymes.
Swing lead bats...to elevate their minds.
Get back...Emcees ain't f****** righteous.
Craig Mack ain't never got his meat lumped like this.
Chorus:
I'm doing Damage (uh), Damage (uh), Damage (uh), m*********** say WHAT?
(ONE) something's gotta give
(TWO) something's gotta give
(THREE) something's gotta give
Arrrrrggghhhhhhh...
Sage Francis Verse 2:
I am a nightmare walkin', psychopath stalkin'
Natalie Portman with a blank tape in my walkman,
talkin to myself over instrumental cassettes
the essential steps of having graphic, telepathic mental s**.
Mind f*** me or get the hell off of my head case.
Suck it up or spit it out. How's that medicated bed taste?
I replaced the sheets. I love ripping off pillow cases.
Breaking teeth, shoving lip glass in your little faces.
Like that! "Do you like that?"
"If you had hands attached to your arms would you fight back?"
I hijacked your daughter's school bus,
Dismantled ridiculous religions that supply Gods that you trust.
Whose plush style of living and senseless spending
is eh-heh-heh-heh-endinnnnnnng.
Sage Francis manages bandages on cancerous mannequins,
standing in pajamas with bananas and candid cameras doing Damage.
CHORUS
Sage Francis Verse 3:
This music's got abusive roots, fists hit my face on rough nights.
You think bruises are cute but, trick, you ain't my blood type.
Some strike the wrong nerve (the way they converse is weak.)
Others write with strong words (they can't build the nerve to speak.)
Verbally inept except when subjects are expected.
Preconceived conversation styles. "That small talk s*** was written, kid!"
Caught me. Watch me freestyle this bowel movement.
You won't hear no "ooohs" or "ahhhs" when I choose to use no vowels, STUPID!"
Thought I was kidding when I wasn't, b****?
s*** is HOT. Plumbers unclog my toilet wearing over mitts.
Your mommy thinks I'm dope...there's no pretending I'm not.
Put hockey sticks in your throat...from the penalty box.
Enemies jock while their girl shows athletic support.
Having s** for the sport of it on basketball courts.
Maintaining my composure when game night is over,
and I don't strike a pose...I strike a poseur. Doin' DAMAGE
CHORUS
Sage Francis Verse 4:
I quickly enter your honey dip, strip ends from your money clip.
Joe Beats you to death with the s*** end of his ugly stick.
Fighting drama queens in the white college scene,
Wiping pockets clean when we make them run their s*** like soccer teams.
After they're chased with an axe...half of their face'll collapse.
You ain't copped it when Non-Prophets dropped bass on wax?
Well, I'm your typical hiphop political figure,
But I'm not left wing OR right wing. I'm the middle finger.
And Joe's a sick, demented, jaded mind reader,
Who shoots the s*** with a nickle-plated 9 MM.
When it's time to rock SHUT THE f*** UP.
I never had writer's block and Joey's never been in a production slump.
(Jump, Jump) It's totally worth it now.
(Jump, Jump) Don't listen when they say it's not.
(Jump, Jump) It always hurts coming down,
This is MY house, you don't like it? Get the f*** off of my rooftop.
Sage Francis is out of it. He done switched his tone.
Closet Alcoholics Anonymous, b****, I drink alone.
Nobody knows so I press on...
I go to Fugazi shows requesting Minor Threat songs.
Drunk driving for Exxon. Don't slalom the icebergs.
It's smooth sailing til the boat bottom b***s curbs.
No problem, but my sight's blurred. Don't serve me drinks,
Because I'll write the words that make this whole world sink.
I'm bitter, sweet and sour, s***, I need to shower, s*** and shave.
Stuck to the TV and completely out of it these days.
I've got a CD. f*** the counterfeit DJs,
Who first fronted on our vinyl then bought Bounce off EBAY.
I'm sick of headwraps...they meditate on rhymes.
Swing lead bats...to elevate their minds.
Get back...Emcees ain't f****** righteous.
Craig Mack ain't never got his meat lumped like this.
Chorus:
I'm doing Damage (uh), Damage (uh), Damage (uh), m*********** say WHAT?
(ONE) something's gotta give
(TWO) something's gotta give
(THREE) something's gotta give
Arrrrrggghhhhhhh...
Sage Francis Verse 2:
I am a nightmare walkin', psychopath stalkin'
Natalie Portman with a blank tape in my walkman,
talkin to myself over instrumental cassettes
the essential steps of having graphic, telepathic mental s**.
Mind f*** me or get the hell off of my head case.
Suck it up or spit it out. How's that medicated bed taste?
I replaced the sheets. I love ripping off pillow cases.
Breaking teeth, shoving lip glass in your little faces.
Like that! "Do you like that?"
"If you had hands attached to your arms would you fight back?"
I hijacked your daughter's school bus,
Dismantled ridiculous religions that supply Gods that you trust.
Whose plush style of living and senseless spending
is eh-heh-heh-heh-endinnnnnnng.
Sage Francis manages bandages on cancerous mannequins,
standing in pajamas with bananas and candid cameras doing Damage.
CHORUS
Sage Francis Verse 3:
This music's got abusive roots, fists hit my face on rough nights.
You think bruises are cute but, trick, you ain't my blood type.
Some strike the wrong nerve (the way they converse is weak.)
Others write with strong words (they can't build the nerve to speak.)
Verbally inept except when subjects are expected.
Preconceived conversation styles. "That small talk s*** was written, kid!"
Caught me. Watch me freestyle this bowel movement.
You won't hear no "ooohs" or "ahhhs" when I choose to use no vowels, STUPID!"
Thought I was kidding when I wasn't, b****?
s*** is HOT. Plumbers unclog my toilet wearing over mitts.
Your mommy thinks I'm dope...there's no pretending I'm not.
Put hockey sticks in your throat...from the penalty box.
Enemies jock while their girl shows athletic support.
Having s** for the sport of it on basketball courts.
Maintaining my composure when game night is over,
and I don't strike a pose...I strike a poseur. Doin' DAMAGE
CHORUS
Sage Francis Verse 4:
I quickly enter your honey dip, strip ends from your money clip.
Joe Beats you to death with the s*** end of his ugly stick.
Fighting drama queens in the white college scene,
Wiping pockets clean when we make them run their s*** like soccer teams.
After they're chased with an axe...half of their face'll collapse.
You ain't copped it when Non-Prophets dropped bass on wax?
Well, I'm your typical hiphop political figure,
But I'm not left wing OR right wing. I'm the middle finger.
And Joe's a sick, demented, jaded mind reader,
Who shoots the s*** with a nickle-plated 9 MM.
When it's time to rock SHUT THE f*** UP.
I never had writer's block and Joey's never been in a production slump.
(Jump, Jump) It's totally worth it now.
(Jump, Jump) Don't listen when they say it's not.
(Jump, Jump) It always hurts coming down,
This is MY house, you don't like it? Get the f*** off of my rooftop.