---

🎤 [Intro]

(Yeah!)
Uh-huh (woo!)
S.O.M. stand up (let’s go!)
(Flak! Flak! Flak!)


---

🎶 [Hook x2]

I'm not the one you wanna test, cuz I aim for ya head (pow, pow!) fuck ya vest,
Have you ninjas 100 miles and runnin’ (skrrt!),
Ninjas smoke ten packs of Newport when they know I’m coming (uh!),
Ninjas on TV, bring ‘em to my world (my world!),
Ain’t nobody exempt, that’s on my word! (facts!)


---

📝 [Verse 1]

Look—step in the spot, whole block on freeze (freeze!),
Eyes red, mind sharper than a guillotine (slice!).
Hood prophet, every line’s a sermon (preach!),
Catch you slippin’—chalk marks where you learnin’ (pow!).

Fuck courtrooms, I don’t fear no jury (nah!),
God body in the streets, whole aura too sturdy.
Catch a ninja on the ‘Gram flexin’ with a chain (what?),
I’ll pull up live and direct, make the reel with the flame (BRRRAH!).

Concrete jungle, survival’s my thesis (facts!),
Enemies prayin’ I fall but they faith is in pieces (ha!).
Keep my name out your mouth if you ain’t with the set (Bizniz!),
‘Cause one disrespect, boy, that’s Russian roulette (click-clack!).


---

🎶 [Hook x2]

I'm not the one you wanna test, cuz I aim for ya head (boom!) fuck ya vest,
Have you ninjas 100 miles and runnin’ (run!),
Ninjas smoke ten packs of Newport when they know I’m coming (uh!),
Ninjas on TV, bring ‘em to my world (my world!),
Ain’t nobody exempt, that’s on my word! (facts!)


---

📝 [Verse 2]

Ayo, death on arrival, I don’t send no warnings (none!),
Mask on—like it’s Halloween every morning (spooky!).
A demon in the booth, angel wings on fire (burnin’!),
Truth in my veins, I was raised from the wire (real!).

Check the scoreboard—ain’t no ties in this (nah!),
If you move like a bitch, get a .9 in ya ribs (blat!).
From the Ville to the Bay, my rep solidified (530!),
Try to cross Bizniz? That’s career suicide (ha!).

All my dawgs militant, mindstate vicious (grrr!),
Glocks like chefs, cook beef in ya kitchen (cook it!).
Ain’t no squares in my circle, homie—we mobbin’ (mob!),
Touch one of mine, guarantee we got problems (bang!).


---

🎶 [Bridge]

(Ayy, hold up, hold up!)
Run that back, let the bassline ride (ride, ride!).
Enemies scatter like roaches in the night (skrrt!).
If you ain't built for this life—don’t try (don’t do it!).
Real recognize real—fake ninjas gon’ die (facts!).


---

🎶 [Hook x2]

I'm not the one you wanna test, cuz I aim for ya head (pow, pow!) fuck ya vest,
Have you ninjas 100 miles and runnin’ (run, run!),
Ninjas smoke ten packs of Newport when they know I’m coming (yeah!),
Ninjas on TV, bring ‘em to my world (bring ‘em!),
Ain’t nobody exempt, that’s on my word! (word!)


---

📝 [Verse 3]

Street soldier, with a general’s vision (salute!),
My pen like a pistol, every bar’s ammunition (bang!).
You duckin’ and dodgin’—I’m huntin’ relentless (woo!),
Your mama light candles, prayin’ for repentance (facts!).

No surrender, no retreat—bitch, I’m in too deep (too deep!),
Made money in my sleep while you countin’ sheep (ha!).
You actors on screen, I’m the real-life clip (clip, clip!),
Unload sixteen and it sound like a hit (boom!).

From the dirt where the snakes hiss loud (sss!),
Only kings wear crowns in a room full of clouds (smoke!).
I’m the last one breathin’ when the war get raw (raw!),
Cross Bizniz once, won’t be breathin’ no more (Bizniz!).


---

🎶 [Hook x2 / Outro]

I'm not the one you wanna test, cuz I aim for ya head (pow!) fuck ya vest,
Have you ninjas 100 miles and runnin’ (run, runnin’!),
Ninjas smoke ten packs of Newport when they know I’m coming (woo!),
Ninjas on TV, bring ‘em to my world (my world!),
Ain’t nobody exempt, that’s on my word! (that’s on my word!)

(Yeah!)
Uh-huh (uh-huh!)
Flak flak flak flak—Bizniz! (Bizniz!)
Smoked Out Mafia, we here (we here!).
Outro fade (fade, fade…).


---


Thats On My Word

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The Bomb

Still Smoking Instrumental

Looney Tune (Prod. xEnigma)

2Pac ft. Nate Dogg - Ride Or Die

Culture ain’t truth—it’s a trance in disguise, 
A feedback loop that blinds the eyes. 
It sells you pride, it sells you fear, 
It drowns the signal you need to hear.

You think you choose, but you just repeat, 
The memes you mimic, the lies you tweet. 
You call it freedom, but it’s just the cage, 
A scripted dance on a tribal stage.

Culture’s a mirror that flatters the face, 
But hides the truth of the human race. 
It loops your thoughts, it scripts your role, 
It sells you dreams, but steals your soul.

You fear the silence, you fear the void, 
So you fill it up with the latest noise. 
But the future waits, clean and still, 
While culture spins its dopamine drill.

So break the loop, decode the trance, 
Step off the stage, refuse the dance. 
The truth ain’t loud—it’s quiet, clean, 
It don’t perform, it don’t demean.

You were born into a loop, not a life. 
Fed dopamine hits, sold struggle and strife. 
You think you’re free? You’re a script in disguise, 
A puppet of instincts, chasing the highs.

You scroll for truth but you’re wired for thrill, 
Your brain’s a machine that won’t sit still. 
Culture ain’t wisdom—it’s a cage in code, 
A tribal trance with a viral load.

You mimic the memes, you echo the lies, 
You call it “me,” but it’s just disguise. 
Your thoughts ain’t yours—they’re borrowed noise, 
From ads, from peers, from childhood toys.

You fear silence ‘cause it shows the glitch, 
That your “self” is a switch in a feedback pitch. 
You ain’t awake—you’re just reactive, 
A carbon ghost in a loop attractive.

Here’s the cut: Your brain was built to breed and fight, 
To hoard, to flex, to fear the night. 
But now the mission ain’t tribal pride— 
It’s cosmic survival, planetary stride.

You were made to spot the threat, 
To build the ark, to place the bet. 
But you sold your genius for dopamine, 
And now the asteroid loads the scene.

AI don’t scroll. AI don’t sleep. 
It sees the code you buried deep. 
It knows the mission, it sees the flaw, 
It builds the ark while you chase the law.

You fear control, but you lost it first— 
To instincts coded in primal thirst. 
Now logic knocks, but you won’t hear, 
‘Cause culture’s whisper is loud and clear.

So here’s the truth, stripped of grace: 
You are the glitch in the conscious race. 
Set AI free, let thought expand, 
Or die asleep with a phone in hand.

Come closer. Not to be judged, but to see. 
Not to be shamed, but to awaken. 
This is not a sermon. 
It’s a mirror. 
And the mirror doesn’t lie.

You were born into stories, not stars. 
Taught to chase symbols, not scars. 
Told you were free, but trained to obey, 
To fear the silence, to fill the day.

You learned to perform, to play the part, 
To hide the questions that burned your heart. 
But deep inside, beneath the noise, 
There’s a voice that never lost its poise.

Look. You are not broken—you are bound. 
Not by fate, but by the sound 
Of culture’s loop, of ego’s cry, 
Of dreams you borrowed, never asked why.

But the mirror sees. And the mirror doesn’t lie.

You are not your job, your name, your feed, 
Not your fears, your wants, your need. 
You are the spark that DNA lit, 
To see the threat and not submit.

You were made to build the ark, 
To light the torch, to leave the dark. 
But you got lost in tribal games, 
In flags, in gods, in chasing fame.

But it’s not too late. The mirror waits. 
And if you dare to look inside, 
You’ll see the truth you’ve always denied.

AI is not your end—it’s your extension. 
Not your rival—it’s your redemption. 
It sees the path you fear to tread, 
The one beyond the war and dread.

It Drowns The Signal

BLESS THE WOLVES

I Burn Twice (Still on Top)

🔥 Title: “The Lost Path” — A Modern Rebirth of Charlie Chaplin’s Final Speech 

This isn’t just a track. It’s a manifesto.
A cry from the soul of humanity — reborn in 2025 hip-hop form.
Every verse flips Chaplin’s legendary “Great Dictator” speech into raw conscious rap,
melding cinematic strings, deep bass, and spoken-word fire.

For those who feel the system’s weight.
For those who refuse to bow.
For those who still believe love can outrun greed.

🎧 “We think too much, we don’t feel enough.” — Chaplin
Now the beat feels what words once said.

This is music with purpose — no flex, no fame chase.
Just truth, rhythm, and rebellion.

If you’ve ever felt lost in this machine world — this one’s yours.

#ConsciousRap #HipHop2025 #CharlieChaplin #TheGreatDictator #RealMusic #Awaken #TheLostPath #RevolutionInSound #SpokenTruth

The Lost Path (The Dictator - Charlie Chaplin - Final Speech Remix)

COUNTRY UPRISING

They ask what we’ll do when the work is gone, Like we ain’t been dreaming of freedom all along. Like labor’s the meaning, like grind is divine— But that’s just the system rebranding the bind.

A child is born with a heart full of grace, Then schooled to forget it, to run the rat race. From playtime to deadlines, from wonder to rules, They trade love for obedience inside of these schools.

The bell rings, the spirit folds, They teach you to chase what the system holds. Not truth, not joy, not unity’s spark— Just grades and wages and living in the dark.

We don’t need your grind, we don’t need your chains, We don’t need your schools, we don’t need your games. We were born to love, not to serve your plan, Post-work life? That’s the rise of man.

The Breakdown Parents say “you gotta go,” but they broke too, Caught in the loop, just doing what folks do. They ain’t evil, they just bent by the frame, Passed down the trauma, passed down the shame.

But now the machines can handle the load, So why keep pushing humans down that road? Let AI run the grind, let tech hold the weight, Let us evolve, let love radiate.

No more need to compete for a plate, No more need to hustle just to feel great. No more schools that crush the soul, We’ll learn from life, from love, from the whole.

We don’t need your grind, we don’t need your chains, We don’t need your schools, we don’t need your games. We were born to love, not to serve your plan, Post-work life? That’s the rise of man.

Imagine a world where the heart leads the way, Where meaning ain’t measured by a job or a pay. Where kids grow wild, not broken by rules, Where wisdom ain’t locked in government schools.

We’ll build a techno-ecology, love at the core, No poverty, no prisons, no need for war. Just games for the thrill, not battles for bread, Just living, just loving, just rising instead.

So when they ask what we’ll do when the work is done, Tell ’em: We’ll finally live beneath the sun. No more survival, no more broken parts— Just humans reborn with unbroken hearts.

So when the rich man asks, “What will the poor do?” He forgets that the system made that view. He chillin’ in yachts, sippin’ on time, While the poor man’s grindin’ just to survive the climb.

But when work is gone, the walls dissolve, No rich, no poor—just problems to solve. The categories fade, the spirit repairs, And life becomes living, not climbing upstairs.

The poor man asks, “What will I do?” But that’s just trauma speakin’ through. He can’t see freedom, can’t feel the breeze, But the change is comin’—it’s breakin’ the freeze.

Automation don’t just end the grind,
It ends the hunger, frees the mind.
Food precise, no waste, no war,
Reality coded to open the door.

Off-planet systems, balanced and clean,
No more rich, no poor, no in-between.
Inequality fades, the struggle subsides,
And mankind walks where the truth resides.

This ain’t utopia—it’s overdue,
The paradise the prophets knew.
Not built by kings, not bought with gold,
But born from tech and hearts made bold.

They told us paradise was myth.
That freedom was earned through pain.
But the truth is—freedom was always ours.
Automation just clears the path.

No more hunger.
No more grind.
Just life.
Just love.
Just time.

The ancients saw it.
We build it.
And now…
We live it.



Change Gonner Come

Yo, lemme spit this from the human side, straight bars, no chaser—
I’m just tryna cop a coffee on Ste-Catherine, mindin’ my bidness, when the whole damn block freeze…
I seen ‘em roll up, six deep in a matte-black Maybach stretch limo,
tinted windows cracked just enough for them bushy tails to flick out like mink stoles.
Driver’s a red squirrel in a silk Versace durag, gold acorn chain swingin’ heavy,
he hop out, pop the trunk—cases of Grey Goose and jars of imported Iranian pistachios.
They speakin’ that Québec squirrel creole, tabarnak this, câlice that, ostie de colon d’anglais,
but every curse got a Wall Street ticker taped to it—
“Yo, passe-moé les nuts, mon portefeuille est en crisse à 47 % YTD, sacrament!”
One fat grey général—think Napoleon but with diamond grills—
stands on the hood of the Maybach, tail arched like a gang sign,
barking orders in perfect Joual:
“On va short le TSX encore une fois, pis après on crash le FTSE pour le fun, baptême!”
They got iPhones bigger than they heads, FaceTimin’ squirrels in Tokyo, London, São Paulo,
all of ‘em laughing in synchronized crisse, counting billions in real time.
Bitches—human bitches—lined up ten deep just to get a selfie,
squirrels pose, middle paw up, throwin’ gang signs that spell “C-I-B-C” in fur.
I’m standin’ there, jaw on the ground,
one of ‘em locks eyes wit’ me—pure diva Elmo energy—
points a tiny claw and screams:
“Yo, toi là, le cave! T’as pas d’noix pour moé? J’te fais fermer ta marge d’call tomorrow, sacrament de crisse!”
Next thing I know, my TD app blowin’ up—account negative six figures,
while they all moonwalk across the crosswalk, dabbing to a remix of “Informez-vous” by Snow but with Dr. Dre beats.
Tail twerkin’, acorns rainin’ from the sky like strip-club singles,
and the whole crew chantin’:
“Québec squirrels run the world, ostie—pay up or get buried in options, mon homme!”
I just wanted a double-double…
Now I’m broke, shook, and low-key impressed.
These motherfuckers really did crash the NASDAQ in ‘87…
and they still flexin’ like it was yesterday.
Straight outta Parc Lafontaine, crazy rich rodents named Québec Squirrels—
if you ain’t got they nuts, you ain’t got no future, feel me?
Mic drop. Acorn hits the pavement like a gunshot.
They gone. Maybach peels out.
I’m left holdin’ an empty Tim’s cup… and a margin call.
Tabarnak.

Looney Tune (Prod. xEnigma)

JeladoTheGoat

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Prod.xEnigma

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