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lirik lagu fade to black – terrence esquire huggins

{verse: j’uno}

let me hear how the auto*tune sound, so i can do it a little better this time
yeah
let me hear how the auto*tune sound and there we go
if the powers at large ever put me in charge
i would lift up the common man
who’s hands get bl**dy in the fields
still to this day
with a family at home that needs bread on the table, so he fights through the pain
the same money used to sustain living conditions
is also the banе of our existence
whеn everything can change the instant a breadwinner throws the game
or the higher ups want to cover up stains
getting richer from trickle down economics
or so they call it
chilling at the top of the pyramid with their profits
bragging about
all of their securities obtained
while the man below can’t even put up a security deposit
listen to the
tales he exhales of the concrete jungle
roll of thunder, hear him cry
it echoes all the way to the motherland, but the message doesn’t get relayed
we’ll talk about that another day
for now, let’s focus on my home front
where the voting districts are built like sickle cells
and the mind of robert kells, just grade a f*cked up
and the oppressors give themselves a pat on the back for naming a bridge after a man who spent his life fighting their tyranny
and greet his ghost with a false sympathy
after silencing him diligently
their villainy is blatant
they ensure that our rise is latent
since times of ancient engagements
the arrangement has been skewed
toxins in the water, poison in the food
manipulating the moods of those who they exclude
from the room and from a seat at the table
we’re singing the blues while the tunes that abuse us are made at home
that’s right they’re putting pigs in the stables
fairy tales and fables
couldn’t prepare me for a twisted reality
whether we’re walking on egg sh*lls or the sea of galilee
living in the nightmare that is the american dream
while we strive toward an image
that is yet to be seen
trapped in a theme
of jim crow and the mason dixon
centuries of screams from the creams harvesting my crimson
take us out by the millions
control our sound so they don’t have to listen
to the wails of our ancestors
it’s scary isn’t it?
ten toes down on the bucket in the middle of a crowd
his head is bl**dy, but it’s unbowed
he’s gone to the mountain top and cried aloud
to the clouds in the calm before the storm
while the crows swarm in circles
and the women and children enjoy the circus
he’s seen his enemies burn in the furnace
it’s ironic that they put him on to sunday service
to feel loved for a day
but the rest of the week he was worthless
massa kicks the bucket, fade to black as our hero fulfills his purpose

- terrence esquire huggins

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