Jul Unreleased

Pour Pas Win (Deuxieme Partie) - Jul

JUL - Winanao [EXCLU].mp3

Jul - L'amour Du Risques

Jul - Conscient

Jul - Freestyle “Hell On Earth”

JuL - exclu

Booska Héritage (Braquage Vocal)

Jul Exclu - C’est Fou Comment Tourne La Balance

Jul - Je Suis A 2 Doigts ✌

[Intro]
Night grit, lights split—truth slips through the grid,
We plant what power paved, and raise what fear undid.

[Verse 1]
Civic physics: tyrant’s theorem fails at first condition,
If love’s the leading constant, hate’s an error in the mission.
Author-itarian arithmetic—order built on missing sums,
Subtracts the human dignity, divides the weakest ones.
We audit every axiom they etch on iron gates,
Find circular conclusions in their “destiny of state.”
If might creates what’s right, the proof refutes itself at once:
A rule that needs a rifle isn’t reason, it’s a stunt.
We carry counter-claims in casseroles and common care,
A commons-coded calculus where every share is fair.
Consent is not a checkbox under floodlights, fear, and fines—
Consent requires couches, clinics, kitchens, open lines.
Democracy is dialogue, not dogma dressed in steel;
The table is the theorem and the welcome is the seal.
We test their gospel spreadsheets with the sick and unpaid rent—
If justice isn’t healing, then the law is ill-intent.

[Pre-Chorus]
Quiet math of mercy: add the lost, remove the lash,
Multiply the futures, cancel debts, and split the stash.

All rise, no kings—no chains on the choir,
High tide, whole thing—love lifts, not the liar.
Hands wide, we sing—low bass, street wire,
All rise, no kings—no chains on the choir.
All rise, no kings—no thrones for the higher,
High tide, whole thing—share bread, share fire.
Hands wide, we sing—one beat, one briar,
All rise, no kings—no chains on the choir.

[Verse 2]
Colonizer logic wears a ledger like a halo ring,
Extracts the earth, then bills the earth for daring not to sing.
Supply chains with a hospice at the end of every lane,
If profit means a famine, then the product is our pain.
They mint a “market freedom” that evicts the village well,
Then sell the water back and brand the thirst as “discipline.”
But stewardship is science with a Sabbath in its bones,
Repairing what was ravaged, planting justice in the zones.
We jury-rig a jubilee with grocery-line relief,
Where wages meet the mornings like a balm for busted teeth.
No empire over neighborhoods that knew each other’s names,
No landlord over lifelines—we retire rigged games.
We counter with cooperatives, with credit unions, schools,
With kitchens run by neighbors, not a crown of clever rules.
A treaty is a promise not to profit from a scar;
We sign in bread and braille and build a brighter reservoir.

[Pre-Chorus]
Quiet math of mercy: add the lost, remove the lash,
Multiply the futures, cancel debts, and split the stash.

[Verse 3]
Machine-saint sermons promise uploads of the soul to gold,
But patents on a personhood are graves disguised as code.
Transhuman silver bullet: “shed the frailty, buy the sky,”
Yet bodies are not beta-tests; we’re breath that learns to cry.
If upgrades need an heirloom class to buy a second dawn,
Then “future” is a feudal house with neon curtains drawn.
We’d rather wire kindness into networks made of knees,
Where hands still hold the fragile and the fallible is free.
Authoritarian firmware boots with slogans, locks the port,
But grassroots flash the firmware patch: communion as a sport.
The soul’s not data property; the flesh is not a fee,
Our value isn’t valued by expanding GDP.
If profit sails alone while docks collapse beneath the crowd,
That margin is a morgue—the math should make us loud.
We model moral markets where the ledger loves the least,
And scale the sacred surplus till the famine finds a feast.

Low hum, long drum—ethics in the underbeat,
New law, no throne—neighbors at the mercy seat.
No brand, no blade—only balm for busted feet,
Whole tide, bright wide—every room a refuge street.

Math of the Mercy

JuL - Je reste à la maison \\ Album gratuit vol.5 [16] \\ 2019