| Song | Sun vs Moon |
| Artist | Sage Francis |
| Album | A Healthy Distrust |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Frances | |
| Th-the devil, | |
| Th-th-the devil,(repeat x4 then continues until "settle their differences") | |
| The devil only exists because of your belief in him, | |
| Same goes for that other guy, | |
| I believe the sun is simply reflecting the shine from the moon (word?) | |
| Stealing its spotlight, they'll have a cockfight at noon, | |
| To settle their differences, | |
| At midnight, rematch, | |
| To stir up their similarities on turntables, | |
| That chicken scratch proved to be unreadable, | |
| The determining factor in who gets the pitch to control the tides, | |
| No one decides a victor unless they give a fair listen to both the sides, | |
| We're low-lives, | |
| We go blind jerking off to the eclipse, | |
| The sun was pulling cheap shots doing commercial body tricks, | |
| Behind the back, | |
| Under the leg, | |
| I think he even did a headspin, | |
| On a crossfader that sounded whack, | |
| But looked excellent, | |
| All of the sudden it gets dim, | |
| The crater face steps in, | |
| Puts mexican drumbreaks on the | |
| Technics,He's like " | |
| Let's begin", | |
| He conducted an orchestra so dope the sun started sweatin' him, | |
| I guess he'd expected to win on pure artistic merit, | |
| Composing complex plays with nothin but soundbytes, | |
| Burned out the lights, | |
| Made MCs too self conscious quit the master mics, | |
| For a thousand nights, | |
| It continued without a single slip up, | |
| Except once the record skipped, | |
| But it kinda sounded cool, | |
| And fit within the rhythm he was juggling, | |
| Poly-rhythms out of country western albums spinning, | |
| It is plain that he had come to win, | |
| But as always due to corrupt judging, | |
| They drew a tie - | |
| Now it's do or die. | |
| The sun was like,no no no, | |
| But the moon was like,go go go,(repeat x3) | |
| And when the sun was chosen, | |
| I came to the conclusion, | |
| This guy doesn't know what he's doin'. | |
| God's not a woman, | |
| He's a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn't cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It's cause he's drunk,(Say What?), | |
| God's not a woman, | |
| He's a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn't cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It's cause he's drunk, | |
| And he's always fucked up, | |
| Bottoms up, | |
| God's not a woman, | |
| He's a bitch.(Backmasked:Praise Jesus,Do everything your mother tells you,Love thy Neighbor,Do not murder everyone,Shit, Pussy) | |
| Th-the devil, | |
| Th-th-the devil,(repeat x4) | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, (violin) | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The devil is the fucking white man, | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, (violin) | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The white man (the white man).(Th-th-the devil).. |
| zuo qu : Frances | |
| Ththe devil, | |
| Thththe devil, repeat x4 then continues until " settle their differences" | |
| The devil only exists because of your belief in him, | |
| Same goes for that other guy, | |
| I believe the sun is simply reflecting the shine from the moon word? | |
| Stealing its spotlight, they' ll have a cockfight at noon, | |
| To settle their differences, | |
| At midnight, rematch, | |
| To stir up their similarities on turntables, | |
| That chicken scratch proved to be unreadable, | |
| The determining factor in who gets the pitch to control the tides, | |
| No one decides a victor unless they give a fair listen to both the sides, | |
| We' re lowlives, | |
| We go blind jerking off to the eclipse, | |
| The sun was pulling cheap shots doing commercial body tricks, | |
| Behind the back, | |
| Under the leg, | |
| I think he even did a headspin, | |
| On a crossfader that sounded whack, | |
| But looked excellent, | |
| All of the sudden it gets dim, | |
| The crater face steps in, | |
| Puts mexican drumbreaks on the | |
| Technics, He' s like " | |
| Let' s begin", | |
| He conducted an orchestra so dope the sun started sweatin' him, | |
| I guess he' d expected to win on pure artistic merit, | |
| Composing complex plays with nothin but soundbytes, | |
| Burned out the lights, | |
| Made MCs too self conscious quit the master mics, | |
| For a thousand nights, | |
| It continued without a single slip up, | |
| Except once the record skipped, | |
| But it kinda sounded cool, | |
| And fit within the rhythm he was juggling, | |
| Polyrhythms out of country western albums spinning, | |
| It is plain that he had come to win, | |
| But as always due to corrupt judging, | |
| They drew a tie | |
| Now it' s do or die. | |
| The sun was like, no no no, | |
| But the moon was like, go go go, repeat x3 | |
| And when the sun was chosen, | |
| I came to the conclusion, | |
| This guy doesn' t know what he' s doin'. | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn' t cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It' s cause he' s drunk, Say What?, | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn' t cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It' s cause he' s drunk, | |
| And he' s always fucked up, | |
| Bottoms up, | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a bitch. Backmasked: Praise Jesus, Do everything your mother tells you, Love thy Neighbor, Do not murder everyone, Shit, Pussy | |
| Ththe devil, | |
| Thththe devil, repeat x4 | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, violin | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The devil is the fucking white man, | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, violin | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The white man the white man. Thththe devil.. |
| zuò qǔ : Frances | |
| Ththe devil, | |
| Thththe devil, repeat x4 then continues until " settle their differences" | |
| The devil only exists because of your belief in him, | |
| Same goes for that other guy, | |
| I believe the sun is simply reflecting the shine from the moon word? | |
| Stealing its spotlight, they' ll have a cockfight at noon, | |
| To settle their differences, | |
| At midnight, rematch, | |
| To stir up their similarities on turntables, | |
| That chicken scratch proved to be unreadable, | |
| The determining factor in who gets the pitch to control the tides, | |
| No one decides a victor unless they give a fair listen to both the sides, | |
| We' re lowlives, | |
| We go blind jerking off to the eclipse, | |
| The sun was pulling cheap shots doing commercial body tricks, | |
| Behind the back, | |
| Under the leg, | |
| I think he even did a headspin, | |
| On a crossfader that sounded whack, | |
| But looked excellent, | |
| All of the sudden it gets dim, | |
| The crater face steps in, | |
| Puts mexican drumbreaks on the | |
| Technics, He' s like " | |
| Let' s begin", | |
| He conducted an orchestra so dope the sun started sweatin' him, | |
| I guess he' d expected to win on pure artistic merit, | |
| Composing complex plays with nothin but soundbytes, | |
| Burned out the lights, | |
| Made MCs too self conscious quit the master mics, | |
| For a thousand nights, | |
| It continued without a single slip up, | |
| Except once the record skipped, | |
| But it kinda sounded cool, | |
| And fit within the rhythm he was juggling, | |
| Polyrhythms out of country western albums spinning, | |
| It is plain that he had come to win, | |
| But as always due to corrupt judging, | |
| They drew a tie | |
| Now it' s do or die. | |
| The sun was like, no no no, | |
| But the moon was like, go go go, repeat x3 | |
| And when the sun was chosen, | |
| I came to the conclusion, | |
| This guy doesn' t know what he' s doin'. | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn' t cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It' s cause he' s drunk, Say What?, | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a big white guy in the sky, | |
| And the deserts are reflections of his eyes, | |
| He doesn' t cry for us, | |
| But when he does, | |
| It' s cause he' s drunk, | |
| And he' s always fucked up, | |
| Bottoms up, | |
| God' s not a woman, | |
| He' s a bitch. Backmasked: Praise Jesus, Do everything your mother tells you, Love thy Neighbor, Do not murder everyone, Shit, Pussy | |
| Ththe devil, | |
| Thththe devil, repeat x4 | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, violin | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The devil is the fucking white man, | |
| This is one hand clapping alone, | |
| This is the smallest violin, violin | |
| Run rabbit when they fight to kill your baddest poem, | |
| The white man the white man. Thththe devil.. |