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• Artiste: Verse
• Titre: Sons And Daughters
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We're the sons and daughters of the poor man, the middle class man, forced down to serve by the rich man's hand. This is the perspective of a poor dead man's son, another kid that had to run, another life struggling in the age of the gun. Running was only temporary, I tripped up and I fell. I've learned from what they wanted: Silent people living in hell, where we're taught there's a price for every man and a price for every piece of land. Thrown into a life of stagnance, your mind's a Jail. You're raised for profit and you were born to fail. Sometimes stepping out of line and walking away from all you know is the hardest thing to leave behind. A new life defined, now we can defy the greedy men with the greenest of minds. We never wanted to be seen as a commodity, I refuse to be an object of a vision that blinds me. Aggression. I gotta break the mold. Aggression. Never let them take control. Aggression. Hands in shackles, Mind's confined to a cage. Aggression. I won't stop until I've broken every chain