Kodak Black - Killing The Rats

Bussin' Anything Feat Kodak Black & Syko Bob

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Born into pressure—
before you can speak,
they brand you with numbers,
they measure the weak.
They test your weight,
they test your name,
then feed you a system
that don’t feel shame.

You learn to walk
but not where to go.
You learn to talk
but not what to know.
They herd you into schools
like cattle in pens,
teach you to compete
with your so-called friends.

Time gets sliced
into bells and blocks.
You’re taught to obey
before you can talk.
Sit still.
Don’t cry.
Raise your hand.
Don’t ask why.

And if you don’t fit,
you’re labeled and drugged.
If you rebel,
you’re shamed or mugged.
Bullied by peers,
ignored by staff,
and when you snap—
they call it wrath.

But it’s pressure.
It’s trauma.
It’s silent screams.
It’s kids self-medicating
to kill the dreams.
It’s weed, it’s pills,
it’s lines, it’s drink—
just to slow the thoughts
they’re not allowed to think.

Parents push
what broke them too.
“Get grades. Get paid.
Do what we do.”
But the kid sees through it—
the mask, the lie.
And when they break,
they don’t ask why.

They hate the school,
they hate the frame,
they hate the mirror
that shows the same.
And all it takes
is one more shove—
a flashpoint moment
where they lose love.

Then it’s headlines.
Then it’s grief.
Then it’s blame
without belief.
But no one asks
what made the cage.
What fed the fire.
What stoked the rage.

Doctors treat
what they can’t name.
Call it disorder—
but it’s the game.
They numb the pain
with pills and scripts,
but never question
the sinking ship.

It’s economic war
on the human soul.
You break,
they patch you
to play your role.
Back to work.
Back to grind.
Back to the cage
you left behind.

And if you drink
or crash or cry,
they say “be strong”—
but never why.
Never ask
why the driver’s high.
Why the worker’s numb.
Why the children die.

It’s cradle to cage,
no room to breathe.
No time to feel,
no space to grieve.
And if you make it
to the end of the line,
they call it success—
but you lost your mind.

This ain’t life.
It’s survival in chains.
A system that profits
off human pain.
And we both know—
this ain’t the worst.
It’s just the echo
of the original curse.

So don’t tell me
it’s just how it is.
Don’t sell me
the trauma as biz.
This is the truth
they won’t televise—
a world that breaks you
then pathologizes.

Cradle to cage.
That’s the design.
But we’re the glitch
in the grand decline.

When You Break

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I do not own this, if there is any problem, please let me know.

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