this track describes how shady people  can be

Over Your Shoulder

Yeah
Late platform
One mic

One traveler, one bag, night train
Eyes scan the room, no games
No crew talk, just bars and facts
I move solo, never crack
One traveler, one bag, same lane
Chopped beat hit with cold aim
I don’t float, I step exact
Every line land hard like that

One traveler pacing concrete edge
Bag hold verses I never beg
Windows flash past old days
Still upright, still sharp, still paid
No crowd lift, no fake ties
Just breath control and focused eyes
Two lights flick past the glass
I don’t chase luck, I make it last
Time crawl slow when the drums hit dry
Dust in the loop, truth nearby
I rise early while others stall
Same cold bench, I stand tall
No borrowed tone, no second guess
Each sentence cut to address
One lane carved with pressure marks
I don’t miss steps, I leave scars

One traveler, one bag, night train
Eyes scan the room, no games
No crew talk, just bars and facts
I move solo, never crack
One traveler, one bag, same lane
Chopped beat hit with cold aim
I don’t float, I step exact
Every line land hard like that

Silent faces circle the space
They talk heavy till the sample break
I been quiet stacking weight
Now the room feel shift in place
No mask tricks, no loud flex
Just steady breath and context
You hear noise, I hear count
Every second skill amount
Bag stay light, mind stay dense
Every bar built for consequence
No hype shield, no borrowed shine
I hold ground on my own design
If you front, you get revealed
Boom bap test what’s really real
No rush talk, no fast fame
I apply force through phrased pain

One traveler, one bag, night train
Eyes scan the room, no games
No crew talk, just bars and facts
I move solo, never crack
One traveler, one bag, same lane
Chopped beat hit with cold aim
I don’t float, I step exact
Every line land hard like that

Late hour, platform thin
Still sharp where I step in
No escort, no safety rail
Just pen work that never fail
I don’t brag, I demonstrate
You hear threat in how I state
Every pause measured tight
Every word placed to bite
One traveler don’t mean weak
It mean fewer ways to leak
I don’t split credit or blame
I own loss, I own gain

Bag down when the night close
Still stand when the lights go
If you test, you get shown
Skill talk loud on its own

One traveler
One bag
Still here

One traveler, one bag, night train
Eyes scan the room, no games
No crew talk, just bars and facts
I move solo, never crack
One traveler, one bag, same lane
Chopped beat hit with cold aim
I don’t float, I step exact
Every line land hard like that


One traveler, one bag

Kids in rich zones, born into chrome, But they see the grind — they feel the drone. Parents clock in, clock out, no spark, Dead-eyed dinners, joy gone dark.

They see the stress, the pills, the debt, They see the love, but it’s drowned in sweat. They ask, “Is this life? Is this the prize?” Then pour the drink, roll the lies.

They rebel not for thrill, but to escape the trap, Where dreams get traded for a corporate nap. They see their folks as slaves in suits, So they chase the buzz in pills and flutes.

Then there’s the kids whose parents fell, Not from sin, but from the system’s hell. Too much pressure, too little rope, Now it’s crime, collapse, and dope.

Mum’s on meds, dad’s on the street, Family fractured, no food to eat. They see the grind as a death parade, Where love gets lost and hope decays.

They don’t rebel — they survive the wreck, They learn to hustle, dodge the check. They see the buzz as a ghost in smoke, And wear the trauma like a heavy cloak.

Now zoom out — kids in the global south, No Netflix, no therapy mouth. Twelve-hour shifts, landfill dives, Begging for cans just to stay alive.

No rebellion — just survival mode, Born into chains, never owed. They don’t ask “why” — they ask “how long?” Till the hunger fades or the body’s gone.

Cradle to grave, no soft escape, Just sweat and dust and twisted fate. Makes rich-kid buzzkill look like play, While they bleed for pennies every day.

This ain’t chaos — it’s design. A species trapped in a profit shrine. Culture didn’t evolve — it calcified, Now we worship brands while the planet cries.

TNCs roam like kings in suits, Dodging tax, extracting roots. They don’t wear swastikas — they wear smiles, But their strategies echo fascist files.

Governments nod, pretend to care, But they’re puppets dancing in corporate air. They know the truth, but play the part, While the system tears the world apart.

And we — the species — we play along, Trained to obey, to not ask “wrong.” We call it freedom, call it fate, But it’s just a cage with a golden gate.

We’re intelligent, but we don’t act wise, We build machines while the spirit dies. Our cultures lag, our systems stall, We chase the buzz, but forget the call.

The children see it — they feel the void, They know the game is paranoid. They want a world that makes some sense, Not one that trades their soul for rent.

El Capitan

opm

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