Rousseau - CYNE

The chimp in the jungle, I like to gather in wisdom in bundles

My arms swing from the branches of life, I write humble

My notes are crumbled, my hopes are fumbled

Can’t drop it, a ghost among you folk that stumbled ‘cross logic

I’m definite, like change.

I strain with rewards while

Speck and, Enoch start banging on boards

Daily routines like fiends that’s stuck on the crack pipe

I rhyme over feedback, dare mics not to act right

The emcee, and see y’all just tempt me with

All ya propaganda, ya souls are empty

I was born free, now I stay confined, in this day of time

A slave to the ways of the world, although I’m not blind

Machine gotta, hold on ya blue jean products

Whether you white or black, rich, or poverty’s product

It’s a known fact, sorta like forty acres they owe blacks

I might, hitch hike on hope’s road and never go back

I was born free, but now I’m like a slave to society

Can’t get a license without consent to field sobriety

If you have a plan, they say life will flow beautifully

I need tech support like Vanilla Sky

‘Cause someone lied to me, told me shit was cool

I made good grades, but damn, then got kicked outta school

It doesn’t matter, my computer doesn’t read the data

Even if you’re smart, your life still can get shattered

Into little pieces, this is my thesis

Just ‘cause I raised BB in the belly of the beasts

My people died in vain, the pain is on my brain

And how can I get by when held by this mental strain?

I just don’t understand, I be’s a grown ass man

But every time I see the cops they make me lift my hands

So they can pat me down, and I just don’t see how

I played by they rules but they still treat me foul

Damn!

So what is this I’m living, day in and day out earning

My soul I hope to spend it, it’s the petty change I’m getting'

Back through transactions, money limits my actions

I try to raise up but—(damn, damn)

Trying to move I struggle, moving through hurt’s trouble

Bumping my head against the ceiling—I ain’t even stumble

My eyes are black and blue, rattle my shackles too

I try to remove 'em but damn

Sounds like that I’m in jail, but really I’m in hell

The space between my two ears became my private cell

Ready and willing, able, anything justice stable

They just cut off my cable!

No food up in the kitchen, but I got dirty dishes

Does that make any sense?

My life ain’t ever easy, my girlfriend’s gonna leave me

Who scratched my Nas CD?