jaytoanti - secret ways (prod.1eworld)

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]

Wish these words were just echoes Of real conversations, Journal entries I fondly recall— Lived revelations. I write and I write, til it Reads like déjà vu, But this the first time I'm hearing it— Not really sure Who's speaking to who.

I compose verses like prayers, Petitions, the repetitions like a ritual Might replace what never was, make a memory out of hot air, Might just feel real enough to fill The space you left where words were Meant to be.

People leave so much silence Between each other, Bodies 
sprawled across the battlefield, Too many of our wounded, We leave less than we were, Neither side refused to yield, Only retreated to rebuild, But if it's lost it can only be recovered,
The wounded can only be healed,
No one can replace another. We leave the scene like a graveyard, We learn to abandon ourselves When overpowered—only means of surviving.

Others build an invisible wall, Bricks baked in rage and hate, Mortar of omissions, Can't see out, built too tall. Or maybe it was always there, Just never got close enough To even care... So much thought, so much felt, Every heartbeat like a finger on a key— A typewriter typing Scrolls stored on shelves No one will ever read. Waiting to be received, Stale air intercedes better than a vacuum left By words that can't be summoned, Can't be heard, won't be believed.

We all hold more secrets Than the Vatican archives, Language lives in our DNA, From day one they've tried To bar the doors, turn our nature From a key into a cage, Condition us to hide, To fear what we feel inside, Rather stop looking than Reject our very essence, Our true life, Once, twice, thrice— Eternally, So we compromise.

I don't measure relationships in time— Sometimes more time Just leaves more space, More days, more choices To feel we've drifted far away. Like we just met once but speaking freely Might make us closer than A lifetime of just being near me, But never hearing me, Not speaking from your own voice.

Like how I don't really Know my father, or my mother Even though I see them Damn near every week. We can't really see, can't conceive What we can't speak. Can't always speak what we mean, Don't always mean what we speak, Sometimes we mistake maps For the terrain, without taking a step, Claim we're at the highest peak.

Just another shortcut On easy street. No effort at all, Already feel like you know me.

I have so many conversations With my imagination, Holding spaces for the pages We numbered, dated, and left blank. Only difference between you and me— I know when I'm speaking To my fabrications, I leave room for your reality. The show must go on they say, But know, I'm still waiting, Still listening, for the words You speak, when you're ready— Go ahead, just don't speak for me.

Picture that, grown man still wondering If his parents really loved him Or only loved what they thought of him Until he failed to become that. Wondering if anyone That ever said they loved him, Only loved him when he became Everything they lacked. Hard to know, I would ask them, But can't find them, They didn't stick around— Where they at?

Words and worlds might meet when we Treat them with reverence, Speak them with wisdom and know The word is not the thing,
Words require severance ,
between what is thought and what is felt, The phrase is not the full expression, Words are not what they mean— They're more like a suggestion
Of where to look, where to find
A place to meet somewhere in between.

But instead y'all keep reading
Behavior, polls, deviations,
Like statistics must be more real
Than the people creating them.
Tell me, do you feel it
When I say "Dilaudid"?
Does that word hit different
Than when it hits the bloodstream?
Stop reducing me to data points—
I'm not a number, not a name,
And pain ain't ever been the same.

The way you’ve butchered words,
Means a stagnant silence  only way to stay safe,
Frozen, decaying
Nothing left to say.

Echoes

"SCRAPS" is a powerful conscious rap track that uses the metaphor of arriving at a buffet to find only crumbs and scraps to expose how modern systems promise abundance while delivering scarcity to working people. The song weaves together personal struggle (writing raps between jobs, questioning self-worth), political commentary (15-minute cities, surveillance), and spiritual resistance (rejecting false messiahs and manufactured salvation) into a cohesive critique of how economic, political, and religious authorities work together to keep people desperate and dependent. Starting with the challenging question "Why y'all expect the next breakthrough to sound like anything you already heard?", the track builds through vivid imagery of eating ashes while others feast, creating art from society's leftovers, and ultimately transforms from complaint into prophecy—positioning the artist as someone who channels the voices of the silenced while refusing to sell out or conform to expectations, ending with the rallying cry to "breathe fire" and awaken souls despite systemic oppression.

Scraps[Explicit]

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.

Scraps[Explicit]

Inspirited In Sight

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