Huddled on the inside.
Muffled noises hoping the shadow doesn’t come inside.
Wondering when is the right moment to cry.
For you know at any moment you could die.
Cuddled together, hiding from the monsters that be drawing near.
With loaded burdens and barrels of bullets that are laced with fear.
Texting goodbyes just in case one does not make it out of here.
Praying for miracles and hoping God can hear.
Trying our best to stay safe when the devilish fiend appears.
Watching as class mates drop like flies and blood splatters everywhere.
Traumatized and terrified wishing we were any where but here.
Then cops yell to us to get out of here, and line up the shooter.
However, sometimes the cops are to late to be our saviours.
Or even if they get the perpetrator on time,
We still have to live on while also crying for those we lost who were so dear.
This is an incident that happens every ******* year.
In 2018 there was 82 school shootings with 51 killed which makes me wonder?
Wonder how it’s not clear that our generation needs to be repaired.
I just want to be ok going to school but I guess that’s to hard to ask for in this day and age.
And maybe we are too desensitized to be outraged.
For these 691 incidents have become as normal as one’s pay wage.
But I believe we need to change and once again be engaged otherwise we will stay caged in this desolate stage.

On the road to fire,
For there isn’t room in heaven.
Got a steadfast desire,
A home left to pursue monetary gains.
Dreaming of hope, when family is broken.
Longing for friends, for isolation has gotten lonely.
As time toils on.
So too does this ageing horizon.
Youthful foolish play turns to a rhythm of wisdom.
When I die, I know I’ll leave behind a legacy!
A legacy that’s kept within the music kingdom.
For others to one day discover.
Then the cycle of this circle continues on.
The baton is passed on to the next runner.
With Trends and rumors circulating, controversy always lingering a bit further behind.
And if one does not follow, they are eating by lions.
Touring nations and loving ladies when roaming town to town.
Loving every moment.
Until that moment fades to memories.
That will one day make for great stories.

Trying to figure out why a ***** tried to stunt on me.
While my homie fronts on me.
Triggered lie’s blasting out like bullets into your chest, golly!
Vigor dying whilst family crying that left me locked up now in a little celly.
Why did I pour out my heart to that ***** named shelly?
**** got me melancholy, casting out poxy curses.
My proxy is dropping down which got me feeling worthless.
Growing up in projects where one survives by snatching purses and killing snitches.
While society bides their time by tying nooses.
Rigged games yet we are told to give no excuses.
So, a minority got no choice but to role with the punches.
But with darker skin colour most don’t or won’t notice the bruises.
Vile nobility just loves hunting gooses.
Stark contrast idly confides and resides Inside institutionalized nuances.
Some people can be such nuisances.
Got me feeling like tony roaming through the different cosmoses.
Lonely sinking feeling, with my hope which was once flickering but is now slowly fleeting.
Reciprocal tensions pokes through my barriers like an unwelcomed greeting.
Typical tropes of under-achieving maybe it’s time I let God start intervening?
However, I’m doubtful on whether spirituality is real or nothing more than Kris Kringle.
Jingling jester choirs who always be harping on my people.
Which makes me ponder whether or not God’s supposed love is fickle.
Or if supposed believer’s have actually ever read the bible?
Religious pharisee’s not seeing the irony of praying to their falsified idols.
With their heads so far up their own ***. That they don’t even realize that they’ve actually been worshipping the devil.

Run rotten, for things have gotten out of hand.
Turn coat ducking, torture got him singing and eating outta my hand.
Getting scraped by the beater like youse a percussion instrument;
maybe that’s why a group of people are called a band?
For we all play our part to either be an influence or to be influenced.
Yet we won’t know anything if you never venture into the forest and meet the temptress.
When one experiences all six senses, when in present tenses, which then puts the body through stresses.
That makes the mind flood with guesses that clouds up our lenses.
But that’s just what war is like for one is always in the trenches.
Whilst other’s sit on benches, but each choice brings rewards and consequences.
Which bears questions on what your quest is?
To run free or to be held back by white picket fences?
For being hard pressed brings out either killers or medics.
To choose to be real or synthetic.
To become abstract or symmetric.
However, things aren’t always so metric.
So be wary of being a critique for just like branches of mathematics in arithmetic,
We have many great qualities but when in a group we can become manipulated.

Making an *** of myself while asking myself, does cash moo when these cows Plow over poor fools?
In Cotten fields with brothers floundering,
But still gotta give grace even if monsters starve ya to death.
For they only concerned about cashing their cheque’s, and saving their necks.
Such is the carnal nature of wendigo’s,
Who egos keep em entitled and keeps the dough only flowing to their sect.
Leaving us to fend for ourselves in the wrong neck of the woods.
Evil twisted as some ******* story of a necessary moral good,
With these dark fascist crow puppeteers designing the hood.
Whilst demons like Regan test us like lab rats, pushing pills down our throats with police beating us with batons to our backs.
Backs that built the foundation for these pigs to thrive on while they watch as we slowly die.
Maybe that’s why the hood is also known as the projects.
A project for white supremacists to always have a usual suspect.
Should’ve known my skin colour would get me shot down for nothing like Malcolm x.
Assassinated because we’re deemed as a threat, So how can we live good lives when the cards have already been set?
Man!
I thought that the police was supposed to serve and protect, but corruption comes in and now a brother got to protect his neck.
Maybe that’s why ain’t a **** thing changes?
When one’s race determines the length of their jail sentences.
When ones gender determines whether or not another gets away with ****.
For goodness sake!
Devil please take a hike!
And God please give me the strength to cut up all this red tape!
Because at this rate, society will end up worse then the Scorpion album from drake!
Cause we just like his secret love child for we are in need of some ******* support.
Life is a *****, for if it was a **** star it would be easy but also expensive like a private resort.
So unless you actually started from the bottom it might be impossible to make the charts.
So when life is weighing you down, at least you never had to **** the ***** of a tattooed clown.
In order to try on a Burger King crown,
Then Letting one’s ego run wild and as a result your music becomes watered down.
But every day one a tone’s ah for their sins ah, and for drake it was the coffin Pusha T buried him in ah!
****! Fatality!
Such is the price when one makes a fatal mistake.
For you can’t have everything and that slice of cake!
You can be a model all you want but it doesn’t change the fact that your fake!
Just a manufactured mannequin pushed out at a flat rate.
For uniqueness is just a moded state.
And for the most part we are all bargain bin plastic sheep.
Man humbleness makes ones knees weak.
But loss or gain is all just something that we reap.
So be careful what you seek.
And be sure not to advantage of the meek.
Or else you will get put through a saw mill.
For if you underestimate your opponent you’ll be killed.
For real though man I swear this world has no chill!

I’m coming out my coma like a Russian spy sleeper, and I be assassinating these ******* while wearing some fuzzy slippers. I’m a boss, I’m a goat, and if you got a problem with it, imma put my foot down your throat.
Racial profiling defined me, stereotypes and statistics shunned me.
**** my progress before I even start, I can’t even enjoy myself on a sunny day in the park.
All because I hit that racial profiling mark, for the white man only see’s me as a pitbull and aren’t willing to hear me talk,
for all they hear is a threatening bark.
Man that’s ruff!
Better Put em in cuffs!
Better yet put him down before he hurts someone, so I have no choice but to take out my guns.
Grew up with a disadvantage, grew up with traditional racist cultural norms that left me to fend for myself in this garbage. Plus drugs be flowing through my neighbour hood, and that’s the only way you make money and afford school and food.  
So to survive I Gotta do what I gotta do, so why judge me ***** because if you were in my position what would you do? When you haven’t got a chance to prove yourself a winner for capitalism already has decided you to be a loser.
No safety net, nor is there a invisible hand to get ya out of debt.
Gotta fend for yourself in this world full of hyenas, and if there is a God out there why isn’t he defending us?
Hook:
Internalized designs,
Set up the designs that confine,
That blind us from seeing inside.
Can’t sleep when Im under the microscope.
Can’t speak when people in power have taken away my throat.
Verse 2:
With no one wanting to see things from my lens.
From my scope.
When no one wants to hear what I can lend to make amends.
As they just think I’m on dope.
But This is just the inter-scope of an insomniac.
The reason I can’t sleep.
The reason I’m deemed a freak.
The reason there’s a divide.
The reason why many commit suicide.
Because what’s the point of living,
If no one’s willing to listen to your side.
When no one is willing to acknowledge their privilege.
When it doesn’t matter if your indigenous and proud when society still sees you as a savage?
When your given a one way ticket to prison.
When in all honesty where else is there to go?
With most our language and culture lost and land stolen.
Government has taken away everything precious from us like golem.
And totem pole effects leaves us internally broken.
With everyone believing themselves to be the victim.
And never apart of what lead to the problem.
Hook:
Internalized designs,
Set up the designs that confine,
That blind us from seeing inside.
Can’t sleep when Im under the microscope.
Can’t speak when people in power have taken away my throat.

When I say I'm a dope I mean that when I take dopamine to the brain.
I function differently but that doesn't mean I'm stupid,
like those who sip the lean.
Imma put a stir up on them when i take my serotonin.
Go in like a ronin, cause of the increase of these endorphins.
When I feel the sky in my hands I forget about my depression.
But tik tok boom I'm back in my suicidal feelings.
I feel like dynamite, so to diffuse please pass me the anandamide.
So many chemical mixtures I could become a superhero,
but to fix my uncontrollable urges I need the dinero.
So, maybe I'm really the super villain...
just a victim that gets defeated easier than krillan.
Heads up in the ceiling, feeling highs and lows, but I suppose...
I better put on a good suit of Armour like Gurren Lagann.
For I'm just a mortal in this kombat...
yet sometimes I try to act godly as if I'm Raiden.
Maybe it's just the after effects of a culture shock from society,
but who do they think they are Chris Sabin?
Don't know what route to be in,
for i'm rudimentarily flawed as a human.
Every day's like a Cuban missile crisis,
for this Cold War situation is like addicts on withdrawal...
because everyone becomes so **** suspicious.
I just want three **** wishes!
Most of them would be to get out of these messes.
Though it all boils down to what I decide is more precious!