Don’t mess with Tax-us, is the motto they use,
subliminal
injections, that our struggle will lose.
Don’t play into that Billy
Box shit,
Anything will crumble, if strategically hit.
In the State of Tax-us, it’s the Tax-us two step. One forward, two steps
back!
Pitting brown against white, which turns white against
Black
To keep colors warring on each other,
So all groups are
incapable to witness brothers.
I read the article, of fledgling plight,
Driven to point of
frustration strategically attempting to fight.
Comrades gathered on a
yard, to voice grievances to the man,
A peaceful sit-down was their
ultimate plan.
Their custody is minimum, the industry has everything to lose,
many
are unsure of tactics riot squads will use.
The days are gone where
they’d brutalize one man’s race,
Now they’ll spray you with chemical
gas and fold you up as a suitcase.
But majority tomorrow, they’ll file to chow hall, sit where they’re
told,
to be fed rubbery pancakes that are usually cold
Then be
rushed back to wings fueled for a productive day!
Forced to meet
quotas, compensated no sort of pay.
Afraid to be written a bogus disciplinary case,
To be held in check,
while confined to this place.
You’re housed in concrete boxes! like
sperm specimens in a culture dish,
Checked by intimidation, you’re
afraid to resist.
Then informers infiltrate, exposing what you plan to
initiate,
forcing all backwards to stagnated state.
You’re one
man, in many who burn with a vision we can achieve,
Now, we must
convince other contingents to unconditionally believe.
Now locked in Ad-Seg we passed on the revolutionary flame,
You let
them extinguish it so who you gonna blame?
What can they take from us
now? or futuristically do,
So, ask yourself, are you capable to
follow thru?
Comrades are all I got left, recently I kissed parole goodbye!
To
charge the State of Tax-us it’s our final do or die
I’m going down
swinging, gonna give one hell of a fight
It’s up to us comrades to
unite for human rights
One voice alone, can easily be quelled,
They’ll strip you of
everything to be locked in an Ad-Seg cell.
But multitudes of voices
they’re forced to hear,
United comrades of all nationalities is what
southerners fear.
They try to silence our voices, ignoring our needs
Are you afraid to
be beat down, for the struggle, to bleed?
There’s a fever spreading
across Tax-us, they cannot contain
Comrades who are infected become
immune to the pain.
