You know what it is, make a motherfucking fist
Pump that shit, raise your middle finger to the government.
Lift a pointer for your sisters and your brothers
If you’re fucking with Peace, Love, & Rhythm
[Plot Device]
Move it, life is a path, choose it
Better off broke than rich, confused, and stupid
(Clueless) I ain’t talking to you, unless that shoe fits
Shit grab ‘em, go and rock your new kicks
I’m dreaming of a meaning, all I’m seeing is demons
Deceiving me to believe in greenish things with no reason
And what I’m thinking is treason,
And what I’m drinking is seasoned with salt of divinities,
Fuck that industry
And sneaky senators like Clay Davis, shit
Get them hands out my pockets I’mma break ‘em quick
Eyeing a piece, ready to make my pick
It seems the game is rigged, them stakes is high, so am I
I feel it's needed just to cope with the times,
Everyone walking blind, no one opens their eyes
A future looking bleak, all hope is disguised,
But I focus my mind, I play my rhythm
[KS Joel]
See I was raised in a system that creates division
Separates its victims based on class, race, and religion
Aims to condition the masses to fear and hate what’s different
And distract you from the few actually making a killing
State minions spilling innocent blood in the streets
Flood the prisons with the underprivileged citizens just to feed business
I’m sick of the viciousness, the greed, the hate
The dismissive apathy that keeps it in place
And venomous be the screens, violence in the news
Got you questioning if we’ve yet to finally lose
All evidence of the dream, try to find it in the booze
Or the ten minutes in between each time you hit the snooze
Pledge allegiance to the flag of the land of the free,
Home of the brave, and if you’re lucky you’ll grow up to be a slave to the bank
Trading your days for paper to pay for a place to lay during breaks in the labor
Aiming for greater ranks saying Thanks
To hard work and neglect for my health
They started far above the bottom, still embezzling wealth
Climbing the ladder like descending through the levels of hell
Praising god while shaking hands with the devil himself
[Bon Mot]
In the streets screaming things that would have probably got me sent home
Back when I would sloppily squabble with Stockholm Syndrome
Your god's a model, the dollar doesn't exist, though
I don't think they'll get it without bottles through their windows
Merlot replaced with premium, creates the perfect evening
Or at least the scene that the media will stream
"Another drug filled lunatic, goofy on hallucinogens"
Confusing schools, you choose to swim
"On the scene, moving in"
Lucid, he's clueless the future's losing him
But I'll keep swooping in, to try to prove some usefulness
To all employers done toiling with their shoeless kin
Could lose the whip, could lose the rims,
Could use some sin, could do a rip
Could do with ten, ass could bruise a dick,
Laugh would cool a mint, could do with bending rules a bit,
And rule through spending loot from kids
Fascist actions trap the masses
Three big B’s: Banks, Brother, Business, fees, taxes,
Time spent listening to liars going batshit
All three tryna act like they ain't tryna have it
I expect attacks if we don't inspect their tactics
Respect every last kid fighting for the grass if
They spend their time relaxing, skipping class and passing
You'll be losing hope they won't be voting for the last men
"Things will never change" is what we wallow and they bask in
Things will never change until the day we fucking snap
Revolutions start with small victories
If you don't kill the fucking president it ain't history
"Where's Bon Mot?" It’s no mystery
I'mma start the kind of riots end with y’all missing me
