It’s still rough around the edges but…

Oppenheimer Didn’t invent the A-bomb, the Rockefeller’s did:

Born as animals and grown into numbers
we’ve been fed as children and raised into sheeple
content with desires and exhausted of anger
distracted of our instincts, chasing a mirage of achievements.
Depression isn’t illness it’s our animal instincts

ripping up the world isn’t madness it’s our natural reply to sadness.
We’re not working to live, but working to survive No memory of feeling alive,
we are all dead minus the desire to strive, a nation of zombies feeding the hive

I won’t waste me life away paying for a world I did not create
so I’m gonna raise my middle finger because it’s never too late
let me hear you roar

‘I was born an animal and raised a slave
now I’ve got brass knuckles gonna put the man too his grave’

the yanks dropped the A-bomb, and diseased us with a dream
its the weapon of mass distraction infecting us with procrastination
it’ll see millions hurting and our fathers die working
our names are worthless we’re animals not numbers of crushed aspirations
do you want to be remembered as the society of whores? Crouched down on all fours
then let me hear you roar

‘I was born an animal and raised a slave
now I’ve got brass knuckles gonna put the man too his grave’

it’s desire that’ll that’ll save us
the same evil that made us
an ambition to be free is our key
a hunger for liberty and the thirst life
let me see you angry let me see you roar

‘we’re not going to take this anymore!
I was born an animal and raised a slave!
now I’ve got brass knuckles gonna put the man too his grave!’

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