Set You Free

Lyrics

[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