While emcees were burning ism I earned degrees in journalism   Learning the system and about how freedom of speech is worth killing for   But watch what you say in all those interviews!   You're in limbo? WELL WE'RE IN LIMBO TOO!      Contact the dead to get advice from Anne Landers   Transmit personal problems like head lice in bandanas   The big man on campus has delusions of grandure   Doing a thesis on ebonics, unconsciously using poor grammar      Your mannerisms are suitable to cancer victims   How much opposition does it take for your stance or position   To dance to this rhythm? (you're jignorant, baby!)   Dance to this rhythm. (Go ahead, baby!)      Ah, forget it. It's actually accepted for rappers to have no ethics   Their albums would benefit if they put in half the effort   I attended candle light vigils for Matthew Sheppard   While you put out another "fuck you, faggot" record      That Ain't Right      I blame my hate mail on typographical errors   Correct the mispellings and then send out thank you notes for the love letters   Accept rejection when I get a return to sender   Reject acceptance when the girl's got an agenda      I've entered this Brave New World of true cowards   Talkin' 'bout, "No one goes to shows no more. They're too crowded."   So they stay home and burn shit   Then they say, "I downloaded your life off the net. Totally worth it."      It's 2003. Time to stop acting like assholes   It ain't about backpackers or cash flow   Fashionable afros, salon style dreds or frat clothes   And it ain't about these fuckin' loud mouths shoutin, "BATTLE!"      African medalions didn't sell platinum albums   That's part of the reason why you think hiphop died   It was here before you were. It'll be here in the future   Life's not a bitch, she's just sick of being personified      That Ain't Right      This household is filled with the half-deads   They've got a mouthfull of pills because they're crack heads   They shout that I'm ill, but they're doubtful of skill   With the type of stabbing that turns my back red      I don't blast lead, I write until my pen explodes   All over fashion dreds and your Echo clothes   I don't listen when they say, "Shit ain't ever gonna change,"   and they say I ain't got no soooooouuuuuul..