[Verse 1]
Invest in society—
or slide the slippery slope to dope with no hope,
puff‑puff, just to cope.
A toke on a tightrope,
the drop so close—
buildings burned and trashed,
aftermath of the Watts smoke.
Oh—
and did I mention? Conventional ways don’t work.
Roll your sleeves up, buddy; it’s muddy in my work.
Fu*k twerkin’ and drinkin’ ya’ blues—
black‑eye bruise,
Black‑guy news,
dead on arrival in new shoes.
[Chorus]
Busy, busy—rat‑wheel race.
No legacy to take your place.
Though actions are inactions too...
so what is it you want to do?
The moonlight shines—
a light reflect.
The Son of Man—
recollect.
So I pray—
let God...
and STILL, I move.
The drum I beat—
my own groove.
[Verse 2]
Last Poets said “Niggas are scared of Revolution.”
But my Pops said,
a dog in a corner has two solutions:
jump and bite back,
Or continue to cry and cower.
Afros down to conks—
or locked up to Black Power.
That rope from “Strange Fruit” decayed decades later…
From bayous and waded waters
full of crocs and gators,
to corporate overseers and laws meant to make “just.”
But the just is just us—
and ICE for browns… what?
I’m a slave to the loans I took to level fields.
Ain’t no playin’ for me—if I do, then I spill.
The higher my opportunity, the education is nil.
Like crabs in a bucket, my legs held still,
my head pushed down, my hands trampled on—
so I write, and recite,
prayers shaped like rap songs.
[Chorus]
Busy, busy—rat‑wheel race.
No legacy to take your place.
Though actions are inactions too...
so what is it you want to do?
The moonlight shines—
a light reflect.
The Son of Man—
recollect.
So I pray—
let God...
and STILL, I move.
The drum I beat—
my own groove.
[Bridge]
In the name of one Being,
and being one in frustration—
Me, Buddha, Muhammad, Jesus,
to ascend this creation.
This physical world is hell,
to a cell their paths lead.
If I protest and scream,
or sell cream so I can buy some things—
[Verse 3]
different names in a game still the same.
Rules may shift, but the gist remains;
‘cause they still work—
and reign supreme.
Chains on breath… can’t say their names.
So glitz, glam, bling—
the pacifiers.
At day’s end,
Judas— you’ll deny us.
Unless the infinite sky is blocked,
that voice within won’t ever stop.
Stay conscious—woke—or wake up now!
The end is near the thrown‑in‑towel.
Still, the dawn will rise, and dusk will set.
The toiling keeps a knee on necks.
[Chorus]
Busy, busy—rat‑wheel race.
No legacy to take your place.
Though actions are inactions too...
so what is it you want to do?
The moonlight shines—
a light reflect.
The Son of Man—
recollect.
So I pray—
let God...
and STILL, I move.
The drum I beat—
my own groove.
