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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.

I work long hours for low pay, feeling like I'm wasting my life away. I drown my troubles in alcohol when I get home. It's frustrating to see the rich getting richer while people like us struggle. I wish I could wake up to a better world, but it's not that easy. Politicians should focus on helping those in need instead of just looking out for themselves. There are people on the streets who can't afford to eat while the government spends money on unnecessary things. It's a shame how this country keeps pushing us down. The world is unfair, and the rich have all the power. I want to know what you think and what you do, even though it seems like you don't understand the struggles I face. My hard-earned money is heavily taxed, and it feels like it's all for nothing.

You're not real. Is any of it real? Look at this world: fences, pills for emotions, advertising as warfare, chemicals in food, media brainwashing, social network bubbles. Reality? We haven't seen it since the turn of the century. We're numbed by GMOs, corporate-branded houses, digital displays, and a kingdom of lies.

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 reflects on lost dreams, growing up, and the past's persistence. "And even though the moment passed me by, I still can't turn away." "Because all the dreams you never thought you'd lose lost a long way." "Scars of souvenirs you never lose. The past is never far." "Did you lose you self somewhere out there? Did you get to be a star?" "Don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are." "Grew up way too fast. Now there's nothing to believe." "Reruns all become my history. The tired song keeps playing on the tired radio." "And I won't tell your name."

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.

I never gave up. This was life. Everyone knows his name and is shamed. Let's keep my name nameless. I was always making beats on the down low. Something to ride to, could you and drive slow. Bang. Bang. Bang. Reason.

Pace, love, unity, and guns. This message brought to you by BlackRock and ExxonMobil sponsored by Pabst Blue Ribbon, Brandon Herrera for president. I'm sorry to my family, but that's it. That's the only people I'm sorry to fuck those kids. Regret everything. I didn't ask for life. You didn't ask for death. I'll make my own Yeah. Watch my nine millimeter go bang. Don't forget to live, laugh, and love. This one's for me in case I need it. Got more Jew gas taped on this end. This will be for the emergency exit. Fuck, Nigel. That dude raped someone. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love you. I hate you. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel really good.

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.

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.

Hey. Gleam in my eyes since I was fraud. Maybe five knee high to a caterpillar. Die. Maybe why. I treat every song rise like it's do or die. Do or die. Try. It's do or die. Excavation crows in the house. I'll tell you why. Muscles are deeper than the basement. I've got replacement. Nanotech light racing. DNA powered up shock waves bent. Brains linked up. Engine for the truck. It'll make you crazy. Skyscrap makes the air haze. I feel like these tidal waves that blast you. Watch the weather smash you as the angels fly past you. They unmasked you past you. Evil grasps ass. Pulls you into the black hole hooked up to the matrix. Now you're coded. DNA loaded in a block. DNA loaded in a box. In a frame. Energy that never stops. Take your head in shame.

I'm dead and gone. This is society that did me wrong. I died a 100 times in my life. Nobody loves me. Nobody cries. I always gotta fight to stay alive or die. When I come correct, you're fucked. Biggest cock in the annals. Taking bets. Fake fucking bitch. I'm getting rich. Triangle type of hit. COVID type of grip. Agent Smith. Virus strip. Demon's field of pain. Angels filled my body with the rain. It takes away the flames when they kill me. Water type of drip, decent type of flip. Mud is getting thick. The ship is sinking quick. I fly the rock into the abyss. I don't pray for shit before it's flipped. dragonfly, and giant shift. Underground tunnels filled with pits. Stars overhead that never shift. Looking at the sky, it's a gift. I'm ready for the shift. Excavation Pro, I'm Rachel B.

I'm dead and gone. I'm a society that did me wrong. I died a 100 times in my life. All I ever seen is strike. A man's life. In your ears, Christopher. Angels from the sky pick us up. No one's got any spark in their soul. I'm the boss. Inside them, zombies bodies hide them. Five friends. No, you fake fuck. Kills will get him vibes. Society of cuss. It's big shit, drugs inside. That's why I drip. I fly the rock into the abyss. I don't pray for shit. Just hope I'm making it to the other side. Looking at the sky, it's a gift. I'm ready for the shift. It's a gift.

Speaker 0 cites Henry Kissinger’s book Kiss the Boys Goodbye, urging viewers to get the book. In the book, Kissinger allegedly says United States military people are “a bunch of dogs” and “dogs” because they wear dog tags, implying nobody cares if they get killed. They also reference George Bush’s mother, described as “incredibly ugly” and “scary,” who allegedly said on national television about Americans being killed in the Middle East: “why should I waste my mind, my beautiful mind on people dying? Hell, I like what the hell do I care? Man, I’m dying.” This quote is presented as the president’s mother stating that America doesn’t care about its soldiers, reinforcing the claim that soldiers are expendable. The speaker explains the term GI as “government issue,” noting that the government issues pants, shoes, car, underwear, food, and everything else. Therefore, soldiers are “government issue,” like an oil can, a tire, or any other item the government issues. The point is made that after a war ends, the United States Corporation does not go back to Vietnam (or other theaters) to collect trash—oil cans, tires, jeeps, tanks—because the trash and junk are blown up; the war is over, so it’s all “government issue.” Consequently, soldiers are left behind, in what the speaker describes as a concentration camp in Cambodia, and the refrain repeats: “leave him, he’s just a GI, a government issue.” The speaker then shifts to a personal confession: at seventy-one years old, he has spent fifty-three years in the world of the occult. The word occult is defined as Latin for “hidden,” asserting that what is important has been hidden and that those at the top know things others don’t. He emphasizes that this realization has astounding him about how much people don’t know about the world they live in. He urges young people watching to wake up and “get a life” and start figuring out who owns them. He questions “all this crap about people owning your body on this New York Stock Exchange,” implying ownership or control by powerful entities. In sum, the speaker presents a sequence of provocative claims linking Kissinger’s alleged statements, the Bush family quote about indifference to soldiers’ deaths, a harsh critique of the GI concept and postwar neglect, a long personal claim about occult knowledge, and a warning to wake up to hidden powers allegedly controlling people.

Applying pressure, but I promise I'll make it. Living free in their heads, I ain't paying rent. Wake up in the air, I'm making cheese like Mercedes Benz. Please don't take offense.

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.

Most people claiming to be morally good never really grew up. They had kids before understanding the world they were stepping into. What did they pass down? A broken system, corrupt money, endless conflict, shallow values. We live in a culture of distractions, substances, noise, hustling just to survive. And still they say, I did my best. No, you followed the program without questioning it. You handed down confusion and fear, helping build the chaos we're drowning in. Now the world's unraveling and everyone's pointing fingers. Want real change? It starts with taking responsibility. It begins there.

The speaker argues that the United States is owned by foreign corporations, stating that Nixon opened up foreign trade, and as a result, people in Europe, the common market, Spain, and other places “don’t care about The United States forest.” He asserts that the United States has been sold out by people who care only about money, claiming he has "had all the money in the world three times" and had to give it back to keep “the game” going. He describes money as a game, noting it’s “only real to the people who work for it,” while the people who don’t need to work for money treat it as a monopoly game that is “a game of paper.” He lists his own wealth—a production company, a recording company, a Beverly Hills mansion, Rolls Royces and Ferraris—stated as “everything money can buy,” but emphasizes that “it’s all on paper,” accomplished through companies and tax loopholes. The speaker contends that the people who live at the level of wealth “don’t care about the average, honest mule that just goes back and forwards to work,” nor about the children in the streets who are marginalized by this upper echelon. He claims that when those children fall down to his level, he identifies with them because he was a “throwaway also.” This leads to a reflection on care: “do you really care?” and questions who else cares, asserting that anyone who cares is often regarded as crazy. He then shares his personal experience of fighting this system, stating he has spent fifteen years in the nut ward for attempting to stop “the trees from being cut down,” and for trying to rearrange “a lifestyle of a bunch of people who don’t wanna change.” He suggests that change is inevitable, saying they “gonna change because the cold wind is blowing.”

There was a secret chord that David played that pleased the Lord. Faith was strong, but proof was needed. Beauty overthrew you. Maybe there's a God above. All I ever learned from love is how to shoot someone who outdrew you. It's not a cry or a pilgrim who claims to have seen a light. I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. There was a time you let me know what's really going on below, but now you never even show it. I've done my best. I couldn't feel, so I learned to touch. I've told the truth. I didn't come here to fool you.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. You and I took the poison from the same mind. Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. You and I took the poison from the same mind. Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time. You and I took the poison from the same mind. Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time.

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.

"She's shit right now. We don't play with no rhythm. We do it. Don't play my slide on post grade. We'll guess like that. No cap. Three switches right here. And I put the That's just enough right there. One, two, three. That's enough. We don't get our shit, though. We don't even get"

I used to hate rap, but now I see the influence it has on kids. They walk around, blasting explicit music, disrespecting school, and engaging in reckless behavior. It's embarrassing that I played a part in this destructive game, but I can't take all the blame. Most of these kids never had strict parents, so they're lost. Their brains are fried from drugs, they have casual sex with anyone, and they think they're hot stuff without any real knowledge. They focus on their image, idolize rappers, and only care about money. They're lazy, never committing to anything, and then complain about their lives. They'll regret it all when they're older and realize they can't provide for themselves. Their friends are no good either.

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.