💪🏽💯 Des niggas aint soild Byrd!! Keep stayin out da way!! Who_dini 

What’s Craccin

HOTTSHITT

[Intro – Spoken Word Over Low Strings & Clock Ticks] Yo… They call it democracy, But it’s just a beauty pageant for power. A popularity contest dressed as leadership, Where charisma beats competence, And the future gets mortgaged to the next election cycle.

[Verse 1 – The Popularity Trap] Every few years, they roll the dice, Spin the slogans, sell the lies. Film stars, TV clowns in suits, Campaign smiles in polished boots.

Votes over vision, spin over skill, Policy flips with the latest thrill. Blame the last guy, dodge the heat, While the same elite still eat.

[Verse 2 – The Economic Shell Game] The system’s cracked — fragmented core, Self-antagonistic, built for war. No long-term plan, no cultured growth, Just imperial plunder to feed them both.

Common folk starve or join the fight, No jobs, no hope, just war at night. The elite get rich, the poor get culled, And call it “policy” — power lulled.

[Verse 3 – Space Age Reckoning] But yo, this madhouse can’t make the leap, To the space age where stakes run deep. In orbit, you can’t play the same old game, 'Cause every life’s tied to the station’s name.

If you treat workers like ground-based trash, Expect sabotage, expect the crash. Space demands a moral spine, Not quarterly profit as the bottom line.

[Verse 4 – The Meritocratic Contrast] Now look East — the Dragon’s rise, No campaign circus, no tabloid lies. Confucian merit, decades served, Leaders earned, not just observed.

From local posts to provincial reign, Years of grind before the gain. Competence first, rhetoric last, Planning for futures, not just the past.

[Verse 5 – Results Over Rhetoric] No smear campaigns, no bought applause, Just service bound by civic laws. Long-term vision, steady hand, Building the base before the brand.

Results matter, not the show, Leaders who’ve learned how systems grow. A structure built to last the storm, Not bend to polls or voter swarm.

[Verse 6 – The Space Age Test] So when we talk about space-bound trade, Only one model makes the grade. A moral helm, a steady crew, Leaders who know what they’re here to do.

The West still wrestles over dirt, Cowboy politics, short-term hurt. While the Dragon climbs beyond the sky, Old round eyes still asking why.

[Outro – Spoken Word Over Rising Synths] Yo… Charisma won’t keep the air clean in orbit. Spin won’t grow food on Mars. And cowboy politics won’t hold a station together When the void is one crack away.

Only competence survives the vacuum. Only vision builds the future. And only those who plan for centuries Will live to see the stars.

02 PROPHET

BANKROLL BYRD

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