Underground For Dummies - Sage Francis

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 grass 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 Nazi 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 album dropped

A week later, smashed the trophy at a show

It was takin' up the space 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 shit

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 sex

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 fuck a promo copy, buddy, you can download the track

Seratooo promo-sexual 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 shit these rappers brag about

Knowin' all of them are walkin' around with massive 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 motherfucking 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 shit 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 sexy

Let me bring you up to speed, (Humans do a Dance that’s Deadly)