Oddisee - Set You Free | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Oddisee
• Set You Free

We’re 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 s*** into your fingertips/
The danger is, those flicks desensitized us to the ideas it could exist/
Well done Spielberg & 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 axes of e-vil/
& still all the masses believe, that a masked thief, makes all the madness & grief/
We endure, so we indulge ourselves in the idea that wealths the cure/
& further more, less ain’t more no more/
We assess success like herbivores/
More green, more esteem & clout to liberate us from that twenty four hourly bout/
Better known as the day to day struggle, no escape from to make one you got to hustle/
& that’s where the mistake comes, the tussle/
Between fiendn’ 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 two thousand years, you’d think that we would learn/
Can’t take what you earn to the afterlife/
Place it in a urn, the body burns 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 their making the maximum & it’s breaking their pockets cause uncle sam is just taxing them/
& their pockets frail/
Yet the streets are unpaved, still the road is rough/
Not for motors but their motives, exposed to black kettle & pot-holes, that just be closing up/
So hold that though, Imagine having an accent that would band you for asking, for a job/
You’d react & hold that torch/
& burn down oppurtunities 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 plite/ we alright/