[Verse]
We living in the age of the microchip
To think real life is like those flicks
We used to watch where the doc was working for the villain to insert shit into your fingertips
The danger is, those flicks desensitized us to the ideas it could exist
Well done Spielberg and Lucas a theory conspired
I don’t know, in the pudding the proof is but who reads the labels of what they eat?
So the readers digest just what they speak
But who’s they, bigger than the monotheistic belief
That the man is controlling the axis of evil
And still all the masses believe, that a masked thief, makes all the madness & grief
We endure, so we indulge ourselves in the idea that wealth's the cure
And furthermore, less ain’t more no more
We assess success like herbivores
More green, more esteem and stout to liberate us from that 24 hourly bout
Better known as the day to day struggle
No escape from to make one got hustle
And that’s where the mistake comes, the tussle
Between fiendin’ out for the dream or the puzzle
That perplexed minds since the beginning of time
Why are we here, do we really have free will?
Are we gods, god like or beast still?
Did the pharaohs even have it right? In 2000 years, you’d think that we would learn
Can’t take what you earn to the afterlife
Place it in a urn, the body burn
Liberated from the ideology that to have we like, more than life itself
Man builds rockets to go to the moon but can’t lend hands to the needy in help
It’s them type moves that forever ensure that war glooms
Like a tomb where the battle was held to tell the tale how men turned heaven to hell
Oh well, oh well, you know me well
A common story I came from the bottom to the well
Not quite the top so exaggeration I’m trying to sell
So since we’re building my problems I’m from the basement
No, not my sound, my surroundings, astounding if you found how we dwell
Streets are filled with complacent minimum wages
But faking as if they're making the maximum and it’s breaking their pockets
'Cause Uncle Sam is just taxing them and their pockets frail
Yet the streets are unpaved, still the road is rough
Not for motors but their motives, exposed to black kettle and pot-holes, that just be closing up
So hold that thought
Imagine having an accent that would ban you from askin' for a job, you’d react and hold that torch
And burn down opportunity's door
The politics of classism is infused with the poor
That’s condusive for a movement or more, that’s a soon to be war
Not sure we’re living in a paradise
More like a resort unaware of life
We alright, we alright, we alright