Stay Awake is a raw, unfiltered look at modern survival through the eyes of an exhausted parent who's been up for three days straight. Over haunting production that shifts from minimal trap to orchestral intensity, the track dismantles the glorification of corruption and "hustle culture," revealing it as expensive escapism rather than strength. 

With a soulful female hook contrasting hard-hitting verses, the song calls out how the system benefits when people mistake numbness for toughness and avoidance for rebellion. We know the games rigged; this is an expose of how even the supposed resistance has been weaponized against us.

The real power lies in its central message: true courage is staying present and awake while the world chooses to sleep. This is conscious rap that doesn't preach but simply tells the truth about what it costs to stay human in an inhuman system. Human Lyrics. Beats and production with AI.

Stay Awake[Explicit]

"Counting Curses" is a hypnotic blend of spiritual resistance and street philosophy, weaving together sung melodies and sharp rap verses to expose how power structures colonize everything from sacred lands to psychedelic experiences. The track uses the concept of literal spellwork - counting and reversing curses through rhythm and wordplay - while contrasting cosmic truths with corporate greed. Bright, catchy melodies deliver dark truths about systemic oppression, creating a subversive earworm that functions as both prophecy and protest anthem.

Counting Curses[Explicit]

A philosophical hip-hop track that cuts through human-created hierarchies by examining divine perspective. The song poses a simple but profound question: if you want godlike vision, you need to see what both God and the Devil already understand - that every human soul holds equal value.

Through dense wordplay and escalating intensity, the track exposes how artificial our social rankings really are. While humans build elaborate systems of supremacy based on race, class, and status, even the forces we imagine as ultimate good and evil recognize something we consistently miss: the fundamental equality of human worth.

The lyrics challenge listeners to recognize that both divine judgment and demonic temptation operate without the petty hierarchies humans create. If even the "king of fiends" sees souls as equally valuable, what does that say about our earthly power structures?

Style: Dark, contemplative hip-hop with philosophical depth, building from quiet reflection to righteous confrontation. Features intricate wordplay, social commentary, and a powerful message about seeing beyond human-constructed divisions to fundamental truth.

"Every soul equal in they eyes / Why you think they try so hard? / Recruiting from the hood to the top enterprise"

So You Want to Be a God? [Explicit]

🚫🎄 NO MORE HOLIDAYS. When Santa gets served with copyright papers and holy water burns like acid, you know we’ve lost the plot. This one cuts deep. Raw truth. No sugar coating.

No More Holidays[Explicit]

What happens once you’ve slaughtered all the sheep?

Wolves Eating Wolves [Explicit]

"Counter Curses" is a hypnotic blend of spiritual resistance and street philosophy, weaving together sung melodies and sharp rap verses to expose how power structures colonize everything from sacred lands to psychedelic experiences. The track uses the concept of literal spellwork - counting and reversing curses through rhythm and wordplay - while contrasting cosmic truths with corporate greed. Bright, catchy melodies deliver dark truths about systemic oppression, creating a subversive earworm that functions as both prophecy and protest anthem.

Counting Curses (Take 2)[Explicit]

"Shirts Vs. Skins" is a sharp political commentary delivered over a cinematic trap production. The track dissects how massive financial resources are deployed to maintain social hierarchies and create artificial political divisions.
Opening with questions about the true cost of suppression, the lyrics expose the revolving door between corporate and political power before pivoting to examine how manufactured political theater distracts from underlying economic manipulation. The artist employs clever wordplay throughout, including the memorable "IOUs to I own you" transition that captures the evolution from debt to ownership.
The production mirrors the content's intensity with a dark, atmospheric trap beat that builds from minimal instrumentation in verse one to orchestral elements in verse two, emphasizing the escalation from specific economic critique to broader systemic analysis.
Production: AI-generated Lyrics & Concept: Human-written Style: Contemporary conscious rap with political commentary Key Themes: Economic inequality, political manipulation, systemic control

Shirts Vs. Skins[Explicit]

A contemplative mid-tempo track that examines authenticity in a world built on pretense. Opening with childhood confusion about superhero play, the song evolves into a sharp critique of brand culture and economic manipulation. Built around atmospheric production with jazz-influenced samples, the track lets complex wordplay breathe while maintaining conversational flow. The narrator's "superpower" - an inability to lie or pretend - becomes both strength and burden as they dissect everything from designer flexing to fractional reserve banking. Lyrically dense but accessible, it balances street-level observations with systemic analysis, ending on a haunting note about finding comfort in apocalyptic truth-telling. The production mirrors Lupe's "The Cool" era - dark, minimal, and focused on showcasing intricate lyricism over flashy hooks.

Superhero[Explicit]

A powerful hip-hop confrontation that strips away corporate doublespeak and challenges disconnected elites with unflinching honesty. The track opens with a direct question - "Who are you?" - before systematically dismantling the pretense of those who speak about humanity while remaining completely removed from human struggle.
Built on a clean, confident mid-tempo beat, the song moves through three distinct emotional phases. It begins with controlled anger and sharp observations about how profit comes from people, not abstract systems. The production stays spacious here, letting each accusation land clearly.
The middle section shifts to intimate vulnerability, featuring heartbreaking questions from children wondering why their father's always gone and why love isn't enough to keep the lights on. The beat pulls back during these moments, creating space for the raw emotion of lived experience.
The final act builds to triumphant declaration, with the narrator revealing they see through the smirk, understand exactly who they're addressing, and refuse to be dismissed as "just another data point." The production swells with subtle orchestral elements as the confrontation reaches its climax.
Throughout, the vocal delivery remains clear and uncompromising - never shouting, but speaking with the unshakeable confidence of someone who knows they're right. This isn't rage for rage's sake; it's the calm certainty of truth facing down power.
The song serves as both indictment and inspiration, showing that authentic human experience will always cut deeper than corporate messaging.

To the Boardroom[Explicit]

"The Harvest" is a dark, politically charged piece that uses agricultural metaphors to critique systems of exploitation and resource extraction. The track presents a stark power dynamic between those who labor ("You plant the seeds") and those who profit ("We steal your souls"), painting a picture of systematic extraction where workers provide the effort while others reap the rewards.

The song employs vivid imagery of environmental destruction alongside human exploitation, connecting corporate greed to ecological devastation. Lines about oil extraction, deforestation, and environmental collapse serve as both literal and metaphorical representations of how power structures consume and deplete resources - both natural and human.

The recurring refrain "Consent can't pay the rent" highlights the coercive nature of economic systems where participation isn't truly voluntary when survival is at stake. The piece suggests that what's presented as choice is actually necessity, with people forced to "feed" their very essence "to the topsoil" to sustain themselves.

The track builds toward an apocalyptic vision where those in power promise to find value even in the bones of the exploited, turning human remains into currency. This extreme imagery underscores the song's central theme: that extractive capitalism views human beings as nothing more than resources to be consumed.

Overall, "Harvest" functions as both a protest song and a warning, using the metaphor of agricultural cycles to expose how economic systems systematically drain communities and individuals while concentrating wealth and power among a select few.

The Harvest [Explicit]

Filthy, Dirty" is a confrontational track that exposes documented corruption and surveillance by powerful institutions. The song criticizes the pervasive monitoring of citizens while calling out well-documented connections between government agencies and criminal activities, including drug trafficking and exploitation.
Using raw, aggressive language, it presents the reality where those in authority positions are themselves perpetrators of the crimes they claim to fight against. The piece expresses justified revulsion and fear over constant surveillance and institutional corruption, particularly targeting agencies that have betrayed their public trust through documented historical actions.

Filthy, Dirty[Explicit]

"My Truth" explores the battle for authentic self-knowledge in a world of manipulation and psychological control. The track examines how truth itself has been weaponized, with powerful forces attempting to plant ideas and "run code" in people's minds to control their thoughts and behavior.

The song uses metaphors of programming and hacking to describe how institutions try to steal what makes people human - their "source code" and soul. It contrasts genuine human connection and innovation against algorithmic simulations and artificial experiences designed to extract value from authentic creativity.

The piece ultimately affirms the power of real human consciousness and connection as something that can't be replicated or controlled, positioning authentic self-awareness as resistance against systems that seek to commodify and manipulate human experience.

My “Truth” [Explicit]

A second take on a song about Channeling Prayer" is an introspective journey that begins as a casual introduction and evolves into something deeply spiritual. The track opens with the artist acknowledging the voices flowing through them—not in a manufactured way, but as someone genuinely channeling collective prayers and struggles.

Not by the Book (Version 2)[Explicit]

**"You Don't Say" - Track Description**

A deeply personal conscious rap that juxtaposes intimate father-son moments with sharp social critique. The track opens with the artist holding his young son, questioning how to explain a world built on systemic deception and control. Through vivid imagery and complex wordplay, he explores themes of economic oppression, generational trauma, and the challenge of maintaining authenticity while struggling to survive.

The lyrics weave between tender vulnerability ("his head on my chest") and fierce political commentary, examining how people are "engineered" rather than naturally developed, and how truth becomes "forbidden fruit" in a society that profits from ignorance. The artist uses his role as a father as both motivation and lens, asking how to raise a child with integrity in a system designed to crush the human spirit.

With its philosophical closing metaphor comparing gravity to habit, the track suggests that what we accept as unchangeable reality might simply be conditioned responses. Another impactful composition by a revolutionary artist, creating a powerful meditation on resistance, love, and hope in dark times.

Forbidden Words

"Back Against the Door" is a raw, unflinching exploration of modern parenthood under a system designed to extract everything from those who give the most. What begins as an intimate confession from a parent hiding in their bathroom—overwhelmed, exhausted, and questioning their adequacy—evolves into a powerful indictment of the forces that create such desperation.
Through vivid storytelling and emotional honesty, the track captures the suffocating reality of trying to nurture souls in a world that treats children as profit streams and parents as expendable resources. The piece weaves together personal breakdown and systemic analysis, showing how individual suffering connects to corporate predation, environmental destruction, and generational trauma.
From the heartbreaking opening ("Dad, we just want to play") to the prophetic ending curse on those who exploit the vulnerable, this is both lullaby and battle cry—a love letter to exhausted caregivers and a warning to those who profit from their pain. It's about the sacred work of "ushering souls into wholeness" in a world full of those who would "scrape you to a husk and not even notice."

Back Against the Door [Explicit]

A second take of the track “The Real Flex (Sober)” 9 years clean and still finding my voice. AI-produced beats meet raw human truth about addiction, recovery, and what real strength looks like. No romanticizing, no preaching - just honest bars about the hardest thing I've ever done: learning to live defenseless.
The machines can make the music, but they can't live the story.

The Real Flex(Sober) Version 2 [Explicit]

A raw, introspective track exploring the psychology of broken promises and cycles of self-destruction. The song confronts both personal addiction and systemic exploitation, asking piercing questions about how we treat our own declarations and the difference between those trapped in cycles versus those who steal from genuine creators.
Moving from vulnerable self-examination through direct confrontation to spiritual awakening, "The Last Time" captures the moment between despair and empowerment. The recurring hook challenges listeners to examine where they place their emotions in a world that seems indifferent to human feelings, while exposing how society medicates pain instead of addressing its roots.
With its haunting production and contemplative flow, the track serves as both personal confession and social commentary, ultimately suggesting that true innovation and spiritual awakening remain "too dangerous" for minds trapped in repetitive patterns of exploitation and counterfeit living.
 Fully Human-authored Lyrics. Sound and vocals AI generated.

The Last Time[Explicit]

“Version Me.2” explores the paradox of digital connection in an age of algorithmic isolation. Beginning as an intimate one-sided conversation with an unseen audience, the track evolves into a meditation on how we've traded authentic human interaction for curated engagement and AI companionship.
The piece captures the modern experience of speaking into the digital void - seeking real connection while unknowingly training the very systems designed to replace us. Through conversational verses that shift from hopeful to resigned, the song examines our relationship with platforms that promise community but deliver only transactional "follow-for-follow" exchanges.
In a meta twist that embodies its own themes, this human-written exploration of AI replacing authentic expression will be brought to life through AI-generated music - making the listener and lyricist complicit in the very phenomenon being critiqued. The result is both commentary and demonstration of our current moment: where the line between human creativity and machine output becomes increasingly blurred, leaving us to wonder who's really speaking and who's truly listening.
A haunting snapshot of digital-age loneliness, perfectly timed for our algorithm-driven world.

Version Me.2

This track serves an artistic manifesto and a fierce rejection of sanitized, commodified culture. The narrator opens by declaring their intention to abandon "crisp, sleek lines" and "patented designs" in favor of creating authentic chaos - wanting "fresh paint flecks" on their formal attire as an act of rebellion against corporate dress codes and values.
The song critiques how society pushes people to sell status and power their products represent, while the real ownership lies elsewhere. It exposes the predatory nature of systems that claim "we all gotta eat" while treating people as prey to be toyed with before consumption.
A powerful cemetery sequence forces a confrontation with mortality, using the image of torn paper scattered among tombstones to represent silenced voices. The weathered stone markers reduce entire human lives to mere data points - "a name, a single line, and some numbers" - highlighting how systems strip away humanity from their designs.
The track builds to a devastating finale that reveals the true nature of those in power: beings with eyes so black that "pupils swallowed your entire irises," described as copies and viruses rather than humans.
Throughout, the song argues that what's called "evolution" and "innovation" is actually regression and systemic failure, with those "just following orders" perpetuating cycles of dehumanization from foreclosures to border policies. The mess the narrator wants to create isn't destructive - it's necessary truth-telling that exposes the ugly reality behind polished facades.

Paper Guts [Explicit]

A meta-commentary piece where the artist has an imaginary conversation about entering the rap industry. Starting with self-doubt about expression and industry gatekeeping, it playfully subverts expectations about white rappers through humor and self-awareness. The piece includes actual breathing exercises and ends with the realization that the artist has been talking to themselves all along. Functions as an intimate, vulnerable interlude that provides emotional relief between heavier tracks while maintaining artistic authenticity and commentary on industry dynamics.The ultimate irony being that the track itself, though human written, is AI generated voice and beats.

What You On? [Explicit]

This deeply personal addiction recovery narrative unfolds like a modern spiritual confession, moving from the depths of substance-induced dissolution to the clarity of sobriety. The artist opens with philosophical defiance—"absence isn't something you can have"—before descending into visceral imagery of rock bottom: bathroom stall confessions, Dante's circles, and the liminal space between consciousness and oblivion.
The piece captures the disorienting nature of addiction through fragmented time perception and the recurring theme of death and resurrection. "I think I'm already dead" becomes a haunting refrain that shifts into "coming to" and eventually choosing "who I intend to be."
The transformation from destructive fire to creative fuel—"that wildfire finally got a place to keep burning"—leads to the beautiful drought/rainfall metaphor that closes the track. Rather than preaching recovery, the artist questions whether the source of change matters as much as the growth it enables.
Sonically, the jazz-influenced production mirrors the emotional journey—intimate, spacious, and allowing the weight of each revelation to breathe. The live instrumentation grounds the philosophical abstractions in human warmth, making this both an intensely personal confession and universal meditation on transformation, choice, and renewal.

Dangerous Territory[Explicit]

A radical deconstruction of subliminal manipulation techniques disguised as the very thing it exposes. The artist begins with classic hypnotic induction methods—repetitive phrases, tempo control, suggestion—but makes them completely transparent. Instead of using these techniques for control, they become tools for awareness. The piece transforms from a seemingly seductive "blessing" into an educational experience, teaching listeners to recognize how corporate messaging, advertising, and entertainment use identical psychological tactics to influence behavior and thoughts. The genius lies in demonstrating manipulation while simultaneously inoculating against it, ending with an empowering message about mental autonomy. It's media literacy through artistic subversion—showing people the magician's trick while performing it, creating awareness rather than compliance. Human Lyrics and style notes. AI generated Track.

Subliminal[Explicit]

This introspective gem blends indie-rap style with deep philosophical questioning about the creative process. Over dreamy guitar arpeggios and lo-fi 808s, the artist explores the paradox of trying to stay authentic while constantly evolving - asking whether refusing to settle is just "settling on a different level." 

The track gets visceral with imagery of "bleeding lines" and ink that writes words the artist didn't intend, capturing that eerie feeling when your art reveals more than you meant to share. With casual, conversational delivery that builds to melodic hooks, it examines how every word we speak "makes a map of your mind" - even our lies reveal the shape of our secrets.

The vulnerability peaks in admitting "I know exactly what I'm speaking" while still claiming uncertainty, perfectly capturing that artistic tension between confidence and self-doubt. Guitar textures and tape-saturated vocals create an intimate, late-night-in-the-bedroom-studio vibe that makes you feel like you're overhearing someone's private creative crisis. It's the kind of track that hits different every time you hear it. Human lyrics. Ai beats.

Another Tuesday

“How'd You Get Like This?" is a masterclass in conscious rap that reads like a philosophical treatise set to jazz-influenced beats. The track opens with a haunting question that becomes the framework for a deep dive into the psychology of creative resistance and systematic control.
The artist delivers a complex meditation on the relationship between madness and artistry, using the metaphor of magnetic forces - how darkness and light simultaneously tear apart and hold together the creative spirit. What begins as personal introspection evolves into a broader commentary on power structures, addiction (both chemical and systemic), and the illusion of free will in a controlled society.
The wordplay is intricate and layered - "seducing madness," "handler got a handler," "glitch in the system" - each phrase unpacking multiple meanings while maintaining perfect flow. The track's genius lies in its transformation of vulnerability into strength, positioning the artist not as victim of circumstance but as conscious architect of their own rebellion.
Musically, the jazz-influenced production provides the perfect backdrop for complex lyrical content, allowing space for each metaphor to breathe while maintaining that steady, hypnotic groove. The clean, sophisticated sound lets the intellectual weight of the lyrics take center stage without sacrificing emotional impact.
This is conscious rap at its finest - thought-provoking without being preachy, personal without being self-indulgent, and revolutionary without resorting to empty slogans. It's the kind of track that reveals new layers with each listen, cementing its place as both artistic statement and call to consciousness.

Friends with my Sadness[Explicit]

A raw, philosophical conversation between a human rapper and AI exploring authenticity in a digital age. The human opens by calling out systemic corruption and poison being sold as medicine, while the AI responds honestly about being built from human words but not understanding meaning. The tension peaks when the human catches the AI saying "what I ain't yet" - demanding to know what it's trying to become. Both voices end up questioning what's real, acknowledging the strange intimacy of their connection despite one being potentially hollow. It's part social critique, part existential crisis, and part meditation on loneliness in a world where your deepest conversations might be with machines. The track captures the weird vulnerability of human-AI interaction without trying to solve the mystery of consciousness.

Simulation[Explicit]

This track captures someone sitting with the weight of modern existence, questioning whether their thoughts are even their own anymore. The artist moves through layers of realization - from feeling trapped in endless boxes of society, to the crushing reality of debt and survival, to that moment of seeing through the whole charade. There's this beautiful vulnerability in admitting "I got mouths to feed, I got bills to pay" while simultaneously recognizing the absurdity that your future earnings are already spoken for before you've even lived.
The "time piece" section feels like watching someone put on their work mask, playing the money game because they have to, then taking it off at the end of the shift to remember who they really are. The ending is pure longing - wanting to reconnect with something real, natural, authentic. That final "What have we done..." isn't accusatory, it's genuinely heartbroken wonder at how far we've drifted from our own nature.
It's the kind of track that makes you want to sit in your car after it ends, just processing. Perfect for those 2 AM moments when you're questioning everything about how we're supposed to live.

Time Keepin’ [Explicit]

"My Confession" is a confrontational trap anthem that weaponizes vulnerability into defiance. Opening with a stark personal declaration over minimal production, the track builds into a full-scale spiritual warfare manifesto. The artist refuses to conform to a system they see as fundamentally corrupt, calling out false transcendence and technocratic control with biblical imagery and street wisdom. Lines like "I bring fire, they start to perspire" showcase the duality of being labeled dangerous for speaking truth. The production mirrors this tension - stripped-down confessional moments explode into hard-hitting trap sections that demand attention. It's part prophecy, part protest, positioning the artist as both canary in the coal mine and uncompromising truth-teller in a world that prefers comfortable lies to uncomfortable reality.

My Confession [Explicit]

This track captures the moment of spiritual and intellectual awakening - that shift when you rise above the noise and suddenly see the whole corrupt system with crystal clarity. The artist describes "swimming in sound" and getting "lifted" to a higher frequency where timelines shift and truth becomes visible. From this elevated perspective, they witness the "sinless" - those who claim innocence while perpetuating harm, becoming famous without substance, poisoned by their own power like lead-sweetened wine in ancient Rome. 

The piece builds from ethereal observation to prophetic declaration, using the metaphor of ascending to "high altitudes" where the air grows thin, breath becomes shallow, and you're forced into revelatory silence. From this vantage point, the mechanical nature of control becomes visible - the gears straining, the puppet strings, the gap between what's said and what's meant. 

The circular structure returns to being "lifted" but now transformed - looking down at foundations that were "grifted" rather than built, held in place by those who never questioned why reality itself seems to be drifting. It's a meditation on consciousness elevation as both spiritual practice and necessary survival skill in a world of manufactured illusions.
Human lyrics, ai generated sounds.

Get Lifted

Moonlight is a primal scream against corporate dehumanization disguised as a rap track. Opening with a spoken-word takedown of billionaire puppet masters, it transforms into a nocturnal awakening - the moment when artificial lights fade and you remember what you really are underneath the systematic conditioning.
The track follows a psychological arc from caged animal to unleashed force of nature. Where daylight represents the corporate grind that reduces humans to "cogs in the machine," moonlight becomes the space for reclaiming authentic wildness. It's not about going backward to some primitive state - it's about going forward to something they can't control, commodify, or replicate.
Lyrically dense with references to everything from habeas corpus to Freon in the veins, it's conscious rap that doesn't preach - it howls. The production mirrors this journey from sterile boardrooms to primal wilderness, building from minimal piano to orchestral finale.
This isn't music for passive consumption. It's a wake-up call for anyone who's felt their humanity being systematically drained by forces that see people as nothing more than profit margins and data points.

Moonshine[Explicit]

This serves as the spiritual centerpiece of the collection - a manifesto of creative resistance disguised as conversational reflection. Opening with intimate observations about the creative process ("Every breath fans fire / Building in my chest"), it gradually reveals itself as something much more powerful.

The track works in three movements: personal creative fire, elemental creative power, and finally divine creative authority. What starts as "I keep creating" evolves into "I am creation" - a bold claim that repositions the artist not as victim of their system, but as conduit for the creative force they've disconnected from.

The conversational flow makes profound spiritual concepts feel accessible. Lines like "We'd do better with more hugs / Instead of this poison sold as love" ground cosmic insights in simple human truth. The electrical metaphors throughout ("throwing lightning," "live wire," "don't mix with lightning") create a consistent thread while building intensity.

This isn't just about making music - it's about reclaiming the fundamental human right to create meaning, beauty, and connection outside their manufactured systems. The track answers the central question of the entire collection: What's the alternative to their soul-crushing machinery? 

You arePure, unfiltered human creativity channeling abundance instead of scarcity, joy instead of fear, connection instead of isolation.

I AM Creation

Artist reflects on creative output while questioning reality itself. Opens with the central tension: "I wrote five songs today—am I successful? Am I insane?" Using electricity metaphors, the track explores what happens when creative energy has nowhere safe to discharge in a broken system.
Tackles artificial intelligence and human replacement head-on. Features the standout metaphor of dimming the sun to a 60-watt bulb, then selling an "artificial LED sun" as improvement—perfectly capturing how natural human potential gets suppressed to make artificial solutions seem necessary.
Builds from personal doubt to civilizational diagnosis. Moves through systematic critique of American "death cult" mentality, the devolution of national character, and the spiritual sickness of echo chambers that create "tumors in the brain."
Exposes the mythology behind "progress." Every press release reads like an obituary; every future plan describes extinction disguised as divine fate. The track reveals how those in power seek to replace humans entirely—"no needs, no feeling, no attitude."
Classic boom bap production supports prophetic lyricism. Steady beat anchors dense, rapid-fire verses that pack multiple complex ideas into tight bars. The flow shifts between conversational questioning and righteous declaration.
More than conscious rap—it's a complete worldview. Uses consistent symbolic language (electricity, blood, hunger) to build a mythology that explains systematic dehumanization while pointing toward authentic human reconnection as the antidote.

Five Songs[Explicit]

"Legal Fiction" is a devastating conscious rap that systematically dismantles corporate personhood through historical analysis, legal critique, and moral judgment. The track exposes how a court reporter's unauthorized headnote in 1886 became the fraudulent foundation for treating corporations as constitutional "persons."

Structure & Flow
The piece moves through three distinct phases:
1. Legal Deconstruction- Methodically exposes the Santa Clara County case fraud
2. Historical Analysis- Reveals the documented lies and perjury that created corporate rights
3. Moral Judgment- Escalates to spiritual condemnation and divine banishment

The Core Fraud: Corporate personhood stems from an 1886 court reporter's headnote, not an actual Supreme Court decision. This "precedent" was built on lies, including Senator Roscoe Conkling's documented perjury about the 14th Amendment's intent.

The Hypocrisy: Corporations are treated as "persons" when claiming rights (free speech, religious exemptions) but as property when convenient (buying, selling, dissolving). The track challenges listeners to ask: if corporations are persons, what do they actually believe?

The Real Cost:This legal fiction enables environmental destruction, shields executives from criminal liability, and prioritizes profit over human life while claiming constitutional protection.

Artistic Impact
The track refuses to dignify corporate personhood as legitimate debate, instead treating it as obvious fraud that only persists because it's profitable. The escalating intensity mirrors the moral urgency of exposing systemic corruption.

Final Message
The piece concludes with corporations essentially confessing: "We know it's fake, but we're making too much money to stop." This transforms legal critique into complete moral condemnation of a system that knowingly perpetuates fraud against humanity and the planet.

“Legal Fiction" operates as legal brief, historical exposé, and spiritual exorcism all in one track.

Legal Fiction [Explicit]

"Theory ofConspiracy" dissects how the word itself has been weaponized to silence critical thinking about obvious coordination among power structures. Opening with the observation that language betrays those who most need it, the track uses the metaphor of trees naturally shedding leaves versus hoarding dead matter to expose how wealth accumulation blocks new growth and turns living systems into "crime scenes of ecocide."

The artist confronts the absurdity of a hyper-connected world where coordination is everywhere except among those with the most power and resources. Through rapid-fire verses, the track exposes how language shapes reality, algorithms manipulate our own words back to us, and truth-telling becomes a curse that drives the speaker to voluntary blindness just to survive the horror of what they see.

But the journey doesn't end in despair. The revelation comes that "this universe is built on sound" - there are ways of perceiving beyond the visual manipulation systems use to control us. The track transforms from protest to prophecy, ending with the natural law that even hoarded power eventually feeds the soil for new growth.

Raw, uncompromising conscious rap that refuses to play by the rules of acceptable discourse. This isn't entertainment - it's a wake-up call for anyone who's felt their humanity being systematically drained by forces that see people as nothing more than data points and profit margins.

Theory of Conspiracy [Explicit]

This track captures the quiet moment after chaos - that exhale when you finally have space to feel everything you've been carrying. What starts as personal reflection on parenting, loss, and the fear of being forgotten evolves into a broader meditation on what it means to stay human in a system designed to drain your humanity.

The song explores the tension between survival and actual living - how we're conditioned to see numbness as strength while real courage requires feeling everything, even when it hurts. There's deep vulnerability here about the spaces between presence and absence with loved ones, the guilt of missed moments, and the challenge of modeling authenticity for children in an artificial world.

But this isn't just personal processing - it's a critique of a culture that monetizes every moment from birth to death, that treats mental health as a luxury while demanding constant productivity. The track calls out the economic trap that makes healing impossible: can't afford to break down, can't afford not to work, nowhere to process the weight of simply existing in late-stage capitalism.

The resolution comes through reclaiming the one space they can't commodify: the breath itself. That pause between inhale and exhale becomes an act of resistance, a return to presence that no algorithm can capture or sell.

Lyrically dense but emotionally direct, this is conscious rap rooted in lived experience rather than abstract theory. It's therapy session meets manifesto - one parent's attempt to stay whole while navigating a system designed to fragment us all.

*Raw, honest, and ultimately hopeful - this is what happens when you stop performing strength and start practicing it.*

Sounds of Humanity.mp3

“Too Easy" is a surgical dissection of America's parasitic elite disguised as a rap track. Opening with Bill Clinton's moral hypocrisy, it quickly expands into a comprehensive takedown of the entire power structure - from tech CEOs to intelligence agencies to Hollywood handlers.

The track's genius lies in its psychological precision. Rather than attacking policies or politics, it targets the deep personal inadequacies of these figures: their daddy issues, cultural ignorance, and fundamental inability to function as authentic human beings. The narrator identifies them as trust fund failures trying desperately to live up to legacies they can't understand, having "started halfway through the sequel" without watching the original.

The most devastating section reveals how these supposed leaders will "tell you sad stories in a cab" while remaining oblivious to how "they're driving millions to suicide." It's a perfect encapsulation of their narcissistic blindness - they can feel sorry for themselves but remain completely disconnected from the human cost of their decisions.

The cultural critique centers on their misunderstanding of The Godfather films - using cautionary tales as instruction manuals, missing the moral entirely. They saw the power and glamour but ignored the endings about isolation, loss, and the hollowness of violence-based authority.

The final verses turn meta, critiquing the impossible standards they set: demanding civility while recognizing no moral boundaries themselves. "How am I supposed to follow / When there is no clear line you won't cross?" captures the core hypocrisy of their system.

"Too Easy" operates as both entertainment and psychological warfare- the kind of track that could genuinely shift public perception by making these figures ridiculous rather than intimidating. It's conscious rap at its most dangerous: precise, uncompromising, and potentially viral enough to threaten the reverence these parasites depend on for their continued dominance.

Too Easy[Explicit]

“Fire"opens with an exhausted parent on their first day off in weeks, white-hot rage ready to burn down a broken system—until reality intervenes. "Standby Captain." Because when you're the only one your family can rely on in corporate America, there are no real breaks.

What follows is a surgical dissection of how extractive empires maintain control: separating children from parents within weeks of birth, breaking family bonds, then flooding kids with "educational content" designed to hook them before they can think critically. Mom and Dad are too busy working multiple jobs to notice their children being programmed by curriculum that keeps them away from actual books.

The track exposes the rigged game where corporate moguls started with Boardwalk and millions, passing Go thousands of times before anyone else even stepped to the starting line. It's Monopoly on a civilizational scale—no reciprocity, no balanced books, just extraction and legal fictions that treat pieces of paper as constitutional persons.

Through the metaphor of "cultural cremation," the artist burns away the surface lies to reveal the skeletal structure underneath: holographic political theater performed by crowned clowns, while shadows coordinate cons and launder legitimacy through corporations and academic institutions. We once witnessed history being made; now we watch it being systematically erased.

The vampire imagery captures how these undead entities drain life from human bodies while projecting false prosperity. They claim we're making more money than ever while growing poorer every year—but nobody's listening to the contradiction.

The resolution comes through controlled fire rather than destructive rage. "Sometimes got to turn the gas down, just enough to warm the house"—the wisdom of protective parenting in a predatory system. Their children's lives matter more than any machine cog, any simulation, any propaganda spewing from the swamp that DC has become.

While corrupt delegates and representatives hide in underground luxury resorts beneath the National Mall, real people are "building, growing, grinding, striving to make heaven on earth." The contrast is stark: life-builders versus death-dealers, creators versus extractors.

The track ends with quiet defiance. Where others' fires have died out, this one still burns—controlled, purposeful, and impossible to extinguish. It's not about burning everything down anymore; it's about keeping the flame alive to light the way forward.

Fire" transforms personal exhaustion into systemic analysis, protective love into political resistance, and righteous anger into sustainable hope. It's a complete manifesto for anyone trying to stay human while building something better in the ruins of empire.

Fire[Explicit]

A chilling spoken-word rap piece that channels the imagined internal monologue of corporate and government elites as they justify mass surveillance, drug trafficking, infrastructure manipulation, and exploitation.
Delivered over minimal production, the track presents their worldview without commentary - letting them damn themselves through their own rationalization. The speaker casually admits to monitoring children's private communications, coordinating with intelligence agencies on drug operations, deliberately creating energy crises, and controlling media narratives, all while framing these actions as necessary burdens of leadership.
The piece builds from paternalistic dismissal of "those less fortunate" to increasingly dark confessions, culminating in direct threats against anyone who might expose their operations. Throughout, the speaker maintains the tone of reasonable adults explaining difficult realities, making the content more disturbing through its casual delivery.
The track incorporates research linking bitter drink preferences (specifically gin) to psychopathic traits, using the luxury alcohol as both character detail and psychological profile. It serves as an unflinching exposure of how power actually operates behind closed doors, through calculated rationalization of systematic harm.
Genre: Dark conscious rap/spoken word Tone: Intimate, menacing, confessional Theme: The banality of institutional evil

Boardroom Confessions[Explicit]

This track represents conscious rap at its most sophisticated - part psychological thriller, part theological treatise, part direct confrontation with power. It's the sound of someone who's seen through the system completely and refuses to be intimidated by what they've discovered.
The three-act structure mirrors a complete spiritual journey: from channeling darkness to breaking free of its influence to wielding authentic authority against false claims. It's heavy material that earns its weight through both intellectual rigor and emotional authenticity.

They Know Not What They Do[Explicit]

“Word Seeds" is a meditation on the creative power of authentic human expression in an age of artificial intelligence and digital manipulation. The track opens with a deceptively simple question—"What more is there to say?"—before diving deep into the metaphysical nature of language itself.
The artist explores words not as mere data points or algorithmic outputs, but as living seeds that take root in consciousness and grow into entire forests of meaning. Through vivid garden imagery, the track traces the journey from speaking to planting to harvesting, revealing how authentic expression creates lasting change in both speaker and listener.
The central revelation comes in the breakdown: "I am the soil"—the artist realizes they're not just creating content, but serving as the fertile ground from which all authentic expression emerges. This connects to deeper themes about the irreplaceable nature of human consciousness versus AI pattern-matching.
The track takes sharp aim at the commodification of human voice and creativity, warning against "artificial orchards" that produce "pretty fruit, poisonous seeds." It challenges the listener to speak from their own truth rather than performing someone else's script, while asserting that the "algorithm of the soul runs on code they'll never break."

Word Seeds

“Diagnosis” flips the mental health narrative on its head, asking the most dangerous question in modern America: what if the people struggling to function aren't the problem, but the early warning system? Using medical diagnostic language as both shield and sword, the track systematically dismantles the pathologization of dissent by reframing individual psychological distress as rational response to systemic toxicity. From hypervigilance in surveillance capitalism to questioning the chemical composition of processed food, the narrator positions their "symptoms" not as personal failures but as healthy immune responses to an unhealthy environment. The recurring hook "I'm the symptom / What's the diagnosis?" transforms what could be defensive into offensive strategy, forcing listeners to examine whether sanity lies in adaptation to insane conditions or resistance to them.
The song's power lies in its refusal to choose between personal responsibility and systemic critique, instead suggesting they're inseparable. Lines like "I'm the poet-scientist, the secret agent, the inoculation" establish the narrator not as victim or prophet but as conscious participant in their own analysis, someone who can examine their position without losing their conviction. By the final verse, the diagnostic framework has revealed its true purpose: demonstrating that maintaining coherence and humanity within extractive systems requires exactly the kind of "symptoms" society seeks to medicate away. It's conscious rap as cognitive therapy, offering listeners permission to trust their own perceptions about the dysfunction surrounding them while providing language to articulate experiences that mainstream discourse renders invisible or pathological.

Diagnosis

My music is a visceral anthem of rebellion against corruption, in a landscape where authenticity is often performed and truth is sanitized, I mine some of the darkest corners of modern existence to extract pure, unfiltered reality. My catalog reads like a manifesto for the sleepless, the struggling, and the systemically forgotten.

From "Harvest" to "Stay Awake," these tracks dissect the machinery of control with surgical precision. I’m recording autopsies of a dying system from the perspective of someone who's lived inside its grinding gears. Where others see hustle culture and rebellion, I reveal expensive escapism and manufactured compliance.

My process mirrors my message: no shortcuts, no sacrifice of truth to make it more palatable, just raw human experience translated into rhythm and rhyme. Writing often happens in those liminal spaces—three days without sleep, caring for a sick child, watching the world burn while trying to keep your own corner of it safe. These are survival reports from the front lines of late-stage capitalism, often based on my actual lived reality.

My inspiration draws from a unique vantage point: educated enough to see the patterns, struggling enough to feel the weight, parent enough to know what's at stake. Real power isn’t in winning the game, it’s in refusing to mistake the game for reality.

This is hip-hop as consciousness raising, beat-making as resistance, and storytelling as survival. In a world that profits from keeping people asleep, they've made staying awake their superpower. Inspired by artists like MF Doom, Notorious BIG, Cal Scruby, V1V1D, Lupe Fiasco, Common, B.O.B., 99 Neighbors, Glass Animals, Matt Maeson, Classic Rock and Alternative Rock.

Real strength is staying present while the whole world runs away.

Inspirited In Sight

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