Set You Free

[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