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Artist: Oddisee
Album:  People Hear What They See
Song:   Set You Free
Typed by: jostmatt at bluewin dot ch (w/ help from

[ Oddisee ]
We're livin 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 shit into your fingertips
The danger is, those flicks desensitized us to the ideas it could exist
Well done Spielberg and 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
And still all the masses believe
That a masked thief makes all the madness and grief
We endure, so we indulge ourselves in the idea that wealth's the cure
And furthermore, less ain't more no more
We assess success like herbivores
More green - more esteem and clout
To liberate us from that twenty four hourly bout
That's better known as the day to day struggle
With no escape from, to make one you gotta hustle
And that's where the mistake come, the tussle
Between fiendin 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 burn
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 tryina sell
Since we're buildin 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 fakin as if their makin the maximum
And it's breakin they pockets cause Uncle Sam is just taxin 'em
And they pockets frail
Yet the streets are unpaved, still the road is rough
Not for motors but they motives
Exposed to black kettle and pot-holes that just be closin up
Hold that thought, imagine havin an accent
That would band you for askin for a job
You'd react and hold that torch
Burn down oppurtunity's 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 livin in a paradise
More like a resort unaware of plight
We alright
We alright