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The passage presents a relentless cascade of universal declarations that “everybody knows” a series of grim, interconnected truths about society, love, danger, and fate. It opens with a mood of fatigue and resignation, asserting that days are overloaded and people keep their fingers crossed, while the war is over and the good guys lost and the fight was fixed. A stark economic divide follows: the poor stay poor and the rich get rich. This chorus of shared knowledge is reinforced by a maritime metaphor about a leaking boat and a captain’s line signaling impending trouble. The refrain widens to personal certainties: someone received a box of chocolate and a long-stemmed rose, implying romance or affection that is acknowledged but complicated by public scrutiny and discretion. The lyrics then move to infidelity or indiscretion, noting that many people you just had to meet were without clothes, alongside the claim that a plague is coming and moving fast, signaling a rapid, unavoidable danger. Further, there is a blunt, lurid image of nakedness, and a promise that revealing truths will come about. The speaker notes that the listener is in trouble and acknowledges what they have been through, tying personal history to broader, existential threats—from the bloody cross on Calvary to the beach in Malibu—bridging religious symbolism with secular, coastal imagery, and suggesting an imminent, pervasive force that is drawing near. The narrative builds toward a culminating moment: take one last look at a sacred heart before it blows, implying a final, catastrophic revelation or rupture. The closing line, repeated with the phrase “everybody knows,” reinforces the themes of shared knowledge and inevitability—the sense that a comprehensive, inescapable awareness underpins all the described conditions, culminating in a looming, irreversible event.

I work long hours for low pay, wasting my life away. The rich have all the control and want to know everything about us. Politicians don't care about the struggling people on the streets. They tax us unfairly while the banks thrive. It's time for a change.

Things are bad, everyone knows it. It's like a depression, chaos everywhere. People are fed up with the news showing nonsense. We're not going out anymore. But I'm not letting you off the hook. I want you to get angry, to stand up, go to the window, and shout that you've had enough.

The speaker expresses frustration with the state of the world and personal financial struggles, stating that bills increase monthly, leading to stress and a lack of social life. They feel isolated, working and staying home. The speaker is upset that the country is "ran by a guy that talks to people that ain't even there." They are also angry that "society's trying to tell me it's okay for my son to be my daughter" and "society's trying to tell me that it's okay for a grown man to date a child." The speaker advocates for burning the world down, stating, "Let's burn this motherfucker completely down."

I work long hours for low pay, sacrificing my soul and wasting my life. I drown my troubles away, feeling trapped in this sad reality. It's a shame how the world has become for people like us. I wish I could wake up and escape this truth, but it's real. Living in a new world with an old soul, where the rich only know the rich.

The speaker addresses someone about “an island,” saying they won’t find a better place to stay. The speaker says the person originally claimed they’d never be in, but now that they’re in, “you’ll never go away.” The speaker then describes “Suppress a revolution from my bed,” referencing Casey tweeting “I to disagree with what I said.” They urge the person to “Step outside the ethnocite in bloom” and “Stand up inside the magistrate,” and they say, “Slap sentence cause you tweeted me.” The speaker claims, “You ain’t ever gonna deport them all,” and repeats, “Oh, migrants can stay.” They state it’s “too late to stop the country’s decline,” and say “They’ll be righteous in crime rates.” The speaker adds an instruction not to look back “in anger,” saying, “you heard me say.” They then say, “Take me to the place where they go / Where everyone knows / They’re allowed to stay,” and assert that “We’ll put your kid’s life in the hands / Of a migrant grooming gang,” followed by “And let them get away.” The refrain returns: “Suppress a revolution from my bed,” with She tweeting that she disagreed with what the speaker said. The speaker repeats the lines about stepping outside “the ethnocite in bloom,” standing and citing the magistrates, and “Like Satan’s cause you tweeted me.” They again repeat, “We ain’t ever gonna deport them all.” The speaker repeats that it’s “too late to stop the country’s decline” and that “There’ll be rises in crime rates,” ending with “But don’t look back in anger, you heard me say.” The text continues with repeated variations of “Don’t look back in anger,” including “So, my brisket steak” and “Don’t think you have me.”

Speaker 0 and Speaker 1 narrate a defiant transgression against a oppressive system, opening with a raw, catharticrise from the base and a message in the static. They describe echoes of a promise that was true and being sold tickets to a kingdom, only for the key to be turned and the gate to be locked. Speaker 0 speaks of rising up, kicking down the engine, and spitting venom at the feet of those who betrayed them. They describe being shaved by pressure and made aggressive by the system, posing the system as a question and noting that they were never allowed to question until desperation, being stretched, and their breaths choked—all while the scene shifts through the groove of a charged moment. They declare themselves classified as a maniac and ready for a sample of system metal. The lines “Crop. Crop. That’ll stab you in the back. Stab you in the back. Through the line. With the trap.” introduce instruments of resistance: erasers and bullets, trace, bullet laser, pulse in the static—tools within the message and the fight. Speaker 1 reinforces the motif of decay and betrayal: “They’re raised on echoes of a promise that was tragic. Facts.” They repeat that they sold tickets to a kingdom, turned the key and locked the gate, and describe kicking down the hinges while spitting venom at their feet. The pressure breeds aggression, and the system remains a question, never letting you question until you’re desperate, stretched, and with thick breath. They echo being “back, classified as a fucking maniac,” ready for a sample and their next example. Speaker 0 returns with a shouted refrain: “System System All the system metal crack crack.” The battle is described as one that will stab you in the back, with the next song gripping you with the trap. They reiterate bringing erasers, bullets, bullet lasers, bullets with tracers; they claim to be the pulse and the static, the panic, the automatic gap. They light the truth with facts, the graphic truth that shatters into black. They declare themselves the match in the attic and the fire that’s dramatic, with the aftermath when the damage is erratic and ecstatic. They contrast walls built by others with ladders built from havoc, stones thrown while stepping on final bones. They build a mountain to stand on top of the liars, looking down, while moving on. Speaker 1 adds the vow of return and escalation: “Fuck. I’m fucking blasting. I’m coming back. Rat a chat. Chat a chat.” They acknowledge the blast, the risk of being quacked, and that you can’t escape yourself, while promising to come back with heat for the freaks. The imagery shifts to a crown of concrete in rust, walking on the backs of crushed bones, sheep sleeping, wolves counting what they keep. The speakers end with the promise: they blast back, creeping in the dark, pulse in the static, the aftermath when the damage becomes ecstatic, and a final note of unpacking the truth.

I'm working constantly for little pay, just to waste my life and then drink my problems away. It's a shame what the world has become for people like us. I wish I could wake up and it wouldn't be true, but this is the reality of living in the new world with an old soul. Your money is worthless and heavily taxed, benefiting the wealthy. I wish politicians would protect regular people, not just prioritize illicit activities.

We wake up early, work hard, and pay for a house and car we rarely use. The government takes a large portion of our wages, and even taxes our already taxed money through VAT. We save for a pension, but the government still takes a significant chunk of it. In old age, we struggle to afford basic necessities and have to wait until we're 80 to receive a state pension, which we can't pass down to our children if we die before that. It's a scam. We work long hours for nothing, giving our lives away to corporations and struggling to make ends meet.

Everybody knows the dice are loaded and people rose with their fingers crossed. Everybody knows the war is over and the good guy's lost. Everybody knows the fight was fixed. The poor stay poor and the rage get rage. That's how we go. Everybody knows.

Amelia introduces herself, saying she’s English and loves England. The other speaker responds with a set of personal preferences—fish and chips, a pint at the local pub, Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolkien, Lewis, Harry Potter, pork sausage, dogs, and fashion—and then declares “Haram. Haram,” followed by anti-immigrant and anti-Islamic statements. They express frustration that Brits are polite but unwilling to “commit cultural suicide,” condemning the Church of England and the BBC as “a bunch of queers and nonces.” They question how the country could move from Churchill to the current leadership, naming Sadiq Khan and London as not Afghanistan or Star Wars. They claim the government won’t protect schoolgirls from grooming gangs and that the police won’t help, accusing law enforcement of prioritizing other concerns, including confiscating garden tools and suppressing free speech. A police encounter is depicted where a woman is arrested for tweeting rudely. They insist curry is fine but argue Britain doesn’t need “2,000,000 Indians here” to cook it, and they assert there are “50 Islamic nations” and that Muslims don’t need to be on the island because they want to conquer it. They state the government dictates the way things must be, and ask if that’s right, addressed to “Robin Hood.” The speaker uses imagery of dragons threatening England, suggesting brave knights must rise to slay them, and questions whether British bloodlines with any bollocks were killed off in World Wars I and II. They declare English men’s country being taken from them, saying it doesn’t matter if you’re “Chav” or “posh”—everyone is in this together. They express concern about the future of the women of England—and imply that women in Iran and Afghanistan wouldn’t want this either. They reference ancestors who defeated the Spanish Armada, Napoleon, and the Nazis, implying resilience of English history. They ask if people can handle welfare tourists, asserting that history will record what actions are taken. The message ends with a call to “Get cracking, lads. Love, Amelia.”

The speaker asserts their legal residency and ability to leave the U.S. if it fails, contrasting this with the listener's lack of alternatives. The speaker criticizes the listener's actions as a waste of time that hinders efforts to improve the country, especially considering the speaker's children's future. The speaker believes that instead of "bullshitting" and wasting time, the listeners should be working and contributing to the economy. The speaker also criticizes the listeners for freely receiving benefits like Medicaid, Medicare, and EBT. The speaker contrasts this with the harsh realities of Africa, where lack of money means lack of food.

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded and fixed. The poor save food, while the rich get rich. Everybody knows that's how we go.

Excavation Pro Venom introduces a persona framed as “the hyper fang” and a figure whose presence creates a “light blur.” The lyrics emphasize relentless impact: “Every word is a strike,” and the bars are described as “dynamiter,” indicating explosive force through each line. The performer states, “I’m building prisons / Society with diapers,” presenting a depiction of social confinement or control expressed through the image of diapers. The message continues with escalating tension, labeling “Anxiety” as something “climbing through the ceiling,” suggesting pressure and panic rising beyond normal limits. The verse then focuses on a recurring pattern of deception and wrongdoing: “Through the lies they’ve been dealing,” linking harmful actions to ongoing dishonesty. It connects this to “Through the stealing,” extending the critique to theft and exploitation. The overall structure moves from a statement of identity and intensity (“Excavation Pro Venom spitting viper,” “hyper fang,” and “light blur”) into an assertion of direct, forceful delivery (“Every word is a strike,” “Every bar dynamiter”). From there, the lyrics shift toward imagery of societal harm and containment (“building prisons,” “Society with diapers”), then heighten the emotional consequence (“Anxiety climbing through the ceiling”). The language consistently portrays conflict and pressure as pervasive—something that arrives and spreads “through” multiple layers of negative behavior. The “lies” and “stealing” are positioned as mechanisms that drive the described atmosphere, culminating in a sense of relentless exposure: the threats are not isolated but repeatedly encountered “through” the ongoing dealings. The final lines reinforce that the speaker’s message is rooted in these themes, tying together the motifs of violence-in-language, confinement, rising anxiety, and wrongdoing. Across the verse, the imagery remains tightly linked: venom-like speech (“spitting viper”), heightened aggression (“hyper fang”), intensified delivery (“Every word is a strike”), and catastrophic outcomes associated with rhythm and lyrics (“Every bar dynamiter”). This leads into a composite picture of constrained society (“building prisons,” “Society with diapers”) under strain (“Anxiety climbing through the ceiling”), shaped by continuing dishonesty and theft (“Through the lies they’ve been dealing,” “Through the stealing”).

The speaker discusses the impact of white people leaving African countries, stating that these countries become worse off without them. They mention the development and infrastructure that was built during white rule in South Africa and how it is now deteriorating. The speaker also criticizes the lack of action and progress in African countries, blaming internal issues rather than external factors like the CIA. They highlight the migration of white people to countries like Australia, New Zealand, and Canada, and express frustration with the admiration and freedom these individuals receive. The speaker concludes by addressing self-hate and the desire to change one's appearance to be more like white people.

The speaker provides a satirical overview of the UK, highlighting various controversial aspects. They criticize the feudal system, the Conservative party, and the media's influence. The upcoming election is mentioned, with expectations of populist tactics, distraction techniques, and voter disenfranchisement. The speaker also mentions the failures of the current government, including austerity measures and various social issues. They discourage sharing the video or informing voters about tactical voting. The speaker concludes with a sarcastic invitation to visit the UK.

I'm 23 now, but will I live to see? 24 the way things are going. I don't know. Tell me why are we so blind to see that the Power and the money, money and the power. Minute after minute, hour after hour, everybody's running. But half of them ain't looking at what's going on in the kitchen. But I don't know what's tricky. They say I got to learn, but nobody's here to teach me. If they can't understand it, how can they reach me? I guess they can't. I guess they won't. I guess they front. That's why I know my life is out of love, fool.

I've been selling my soul, working overtime for bullshit pay, wasting my life away. It's a shame what the world's become for people like me and you. I wish I could just block it out. Your dollar hates shit, and it's tax and owe. You're the ex man. Some of us can't say what we know is true. Politicians look out for minors, not just on an island. There are folks in the street with nothing to heat, on milk and welfare. If you're 5 foot 3 and £300, taxes ought not to pay. Young men are running themselves six feet in the ground. The world's got to do with people like me, people like you. I wish I could wake up and it not be true, but it is. We're living in a new world because they're X Men, known for X Men. Oliver Anthony, north of Richmond.

"Go back to use our own country. We don't want you here. Fuck back to use our own country. Absolutely disgraceful. Free money here. Everyone get free money. We go to work tomorrow. Use the hotel. Use the hotels. We have to walk."

The speaker declares that “the truth comes out” and asserts that, even if you run, it will end, "at the bottom of the grave, you're digging out." They then reference Norway’s foreign minister, Anakin Heitfeldt, calling him “another cross dressing Trojan horse, a man in a dress, a fraud.” The expletive-laden conclusion includes, “Motherfucker. Son of a bitch. That's bullshit.”

Speaker 0: Rising sun, a shadow fell. A tale of prosperity turned to a summer spell. The bubble streets were cold. Family struggling stories left untold.

The speaker says they have “been falling off,” but “I’m still on top.” They respond to claims that they “lost the plot” by saying, “I never stop,” emphasizing that they don’t listen to others and instead “let it rock.” They describe money coming in and say they “let the pennies drop.” They mention having a “new chain” with “no tarnish” and a “new car” with “no polish.” They reject others’ accusations: “They said I crashed, I’m a savage” and “They said I’m trash, I’m a habit.” They claim people “can’t quit” them because “you’re addicted.” The speaker states they are the person others depicted, while “falling off” is described as a “narrative” they made “stick.” They say they let people talk and watch, contrasting their position in the “penthouse with the lock” against others being “on the outside getting mocked.” They say they are “in the stool with the mumble” and repeat that others “don’t know the half of my trouble,” insisting they know it. They describe making the “bass shake” and “make it rumble,” saying the “whole world crumble.” They repeat “Falling off, but I’m still here,” and add that “Falling off” is what others fear. They also say “Falling off, now I’m the peer,” and claim they “disappear,” then “reappear,” ending with “They don’t even know what that means, excavation pro.”

We need to start a fire, be the kindling, and get the rest of our brothers involved. We must stand up, show no fear, and gather together. It's good to see you, checking your voice. You've earned your colors. Are you worried? Don't be afraid, be brave. We're coming for you with the pinch force. Some believe it was staged, but it's the same language of free speech. We've seen the power of patriots. Your country is deteriorating, with London now being 40% white.

I'm selling my soul working endless overtime for lousy pay, then wasting my life away. It's a shame how things are, for people like us. I wish politicians cared about the people struggling on the streets, with nothing to eat, while the wealthy prosper. It's unfair that taxes support unhealthy lifestyles, while young men are dying because this country keeps pushing them down. It's a damn shame. I wish I could wake up and it not be true, but this new world is harsh. Our money's worthless, taxed to the point of meaninglessness, all for the benefit of the rich. I'm selling my soul for bullshit pay.

The dialogue centers on a persona who declares being “dead and gone,” claiming a life of harm from society and repeated demise—“I died a 100 times in my life.” Christopher is invoked as a focal point, with “A man's life. In your ears, Christopher. He fly.” The speakers describe a world where around them, eyes appear dark and hearts fake, and where angels from the sky supposedly pick them up while some feel no spark in their souls. The exchanges intensify into a confrontational, defiant mood. The speaker proclaims power over others—“I’m the boss. Inside them, zombies bodies hide them.” They lash out at enemies with lines like “Loser get them five friends” and “No, you fake fuck. Kills will get him vibes,” portraying a brutal social environment and a willingness to dominate or destroy rivals. The refrain “Society of cuss. It’s big shit, drugs inside. It’s lit up.” ties the chaos to social decay and drug culture, while “That’s why I drip. I’ll fuck them up. Watch me strike” signals a personal assertion of swagger and aggression. The dialogue includes explicit, crude bravado: “Biggest cock in the anos. When I come correct, you’re fucked,” paired with “Taking bets. Got some shit tucked. I got some shit tucked. Take their money quick.” There’s a theme of deception and manipulation, with references to “Call them up. You fake fucking bitch. On their shit,” and a readiness to exploit others financially or morally. Images of violence and transformation surface through surreal imagery: “Agent Smith. Agent Smith. Wrapping yet. Virus stripping. Agent Smith. Stripping. You up. Packing tips for your brain.” There’s a sensation of internal and external siege, where demons, angels, rain, and flames intermingle as forces that can alter the self or body. The lines “Demon feel the pain. Angels filled my body with the rain. Takes away the flames when they kill” juxtapose suffering with otherworldly intervention. Descent is repeated: “The ship is sinking quick,” while the speaker ventures into existential risk—“I fly the rock into the abyss. I don’t pray for shit. I fly the rock. I fly the rocket into the abyss. I don’t pray for shit.” Yet there’s a note of uncertain hope or destination: “Just hope I’m making it to the other side.” The imagery shifts to an expansive, almost mythic landscape—“Underground tunnels filled with pits. Stars overhead that never shift.” The sky is a gift, and a song can shift one’s spirit, with a declared readiness for a transformative “shift” that is described as a gift. Toward the end, the phrases “Excavation Pro” and “Original beep” punctuate the piece, signaling a turning point or signature moment in the narrative.