Artist: Sage Francis Album: Sick of Wasting Song: I Trusted You Typed by: AZ Lyrics You know, it's been like...20 years I've been doing this shit. Came up with a lot of people. A few of which fell the fuck off. So I'd like to dedicate this to y'all.. pieces of shit who disappear when the campaign fades Got a nice little record but you can't play on stage I anti-promote you so I can't say your names you're crying about money with your brand name shades to tint out the window to your bland brain waves You couldn't see us move past the champagne phase I done changed the game while your fans stayed the same and say, "Shoot. I'm looking for a man named Sage." Don't sweat the petty things. Don't pet the sweaty things And don't forget to hit the deck when the machete swings It's a rage that engages when the celly rings You don't gotta interrupt my life just to tell me things I don't get along with self-help book worms Had a ring of 'em around me and they all took turns with looks of concern while taking what they could get Some parasitic, bloated tick. opportunistic bullshit My little one-trick pony.. you had a good run while I was patting your ass but after that all anyone could say is how you're so down to earth So is dog shit. Both are getting left in the dirt It ain't about the lie, it's how you tell me it I'll slap this hatchet in your back before we bury it. Then spit out your cherry pit Your petty shit goes tits up. I'm like, "Man, whateva." You're all like, "What's your damage, Heather?" Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Just make sure you lube up with salt solution, stupid, I'm a take it raw There's canker sores on the lip service you give me Your facial flaws are gettin' all nervous and shifty Sissy. That's an easy tell Consider the elbow grease that I put in when you get jealous of what you see me sell How'd you fit those big dollar signs inside your little beady eyes without the use of photoshop or CGI? I've got a special effect...it's called hard work I write my own checks...that's just one of my job's perks You got burnt but you keep playing with matchsticks You keep falling off like weak refrigerator magnets Lock and load. Cock and aim I've got a razor tongue but it's like a taser gun when I make shocking claims And I don't just talk some game.. Cuz I'm a commentator and a player and a coach who can fan the flames Fuck a stand off, I'll chop your hands off And shove 'em down your throat until you choke and you can't cough Dis me in your city if you need to...but when I come through.. "Am I glad to see you!"