We’re 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 s**t into your fingertips

The danger is, those flicks desensitized us to the ideas it could exist

Well done Spielberg & 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 axes of e-vil

still all the masses believe, that a masked thief, makes all the madness & grief. We endure, so we indulge ourselves in the idea that wealths the cure, & further more, less ain’t more no more

We assess success like herbivores, More green, more esteem & clout to liberate us from that twenty four hourly bout

Better known as the day to day struggle, no escape from to make one you got to hustle, & that’s where the mistake comes, the tussle

Between fiendn’ 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 two thousand years, you’d think that we would learn. Can’t take what you earn to the afterlife

Place it in a urn, the body burns 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 their making the maximum & it’s breaking their pockets cause uncle sam is just taxing them, & their pockets frail. Yet the streets are unpaved, still the road is rough. Not for motors but their motives, exposed to black kettle & pot-holes, that just be closing up

So hold that though, Imagine having an accent that would band you for askin' for a job. You’d react & hold that torch, & burn down opportunities 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