
How many of 'em had marches? Murals? Hashtags?
Not a fuckinā one.
Yāall scream for clout, not for truth.
You don't hate me ā you hate what I expose.
Now buckle the fuck up Yāall turned a crackhead into Martin Luther King,
While little babies gettin' dropped ā not a goddamn thing.
Where the murals at for DeShawn who got clapped at five?
Yāall too busy gettinā likes, fake tears and lies.
You lootinā Nike stores screaminā justice,
But couldnāt name a single child caught in crossfire substance.
You ain't rebels ā yāall sheep with spray cans and phones,
Only march when itās trending, then you back to your homes. Burninā down your cities, robbinā Granny for kicks,
Screamin' "Say his name" but wonāt name one kid hit.
Floyd aināt no saint, he was strung the fuck out,
Had a pregnant woman at gunpoint in her goddamn mouth.
Thatās who you honor? Thatās your hill to die?
Meanwhile mothers bury sons with no media cry.
Where the fuck yāall at when a toddler take a round?
Oh right ā no cameras, so you aināt marchinā through town.
No Gucci store smashed, no news trucks there,
Just chalk on the pavement, and fake-ass care.
You worship cnn, let Don Lemon tell your soul,
But wouldnāt know the hood unless itās part of your role Black, White, or Brown ā donāt matter who the victim is,
But yāall only light candles when itās good for the biz. I seen kids get dropped off just to catch a stray,
And yāall cry for a felon who od'd that day.
That ain't justice, that's a fuckin' mirage,
Yāall just bored and broke, tryna fake some collage.You only march when the cameras on,
Actinā righteous with your looted Louis V on.
But where the fuck are you when the real ones bleed?
Kids die daily ā but they aināt what you need.
You want a villain with a badge to push your show,
While the bodies stack high and the truth stay low.
This the white trash prophet, that backwoods flame,
Callinā bullshit on your cause ā yāall just playinā the game. Donāt act like you hard, breakinā Target windows,
I seen harder men cry over their kinfolk.
You aināt activists, you Instagram whores,
Twerkin' in protest lines while the hood stay poor.
You aināt fixinā shit, just burninā it worse,
Sellin' fake unity in a government hearse.
I seen church mamas begginā for change,
While you pose with signs in designer chains.
Got a mural for George, but not Jamari or Kay,
Them babies caught slugs and yāall just looked away.
Fuck your symbolism, fuck your fake tears,
Yāall donāt mourn ā you monetize fears.
You donāt protest, you parade for applause,
While real ass pain get ignored by the cause.
And if that pisses you off, then good ā I hope it stings Truth hurts worse than them riot cop swings.I ain't pickinā sides ā I pick the truth over trends,
While yāall follow leaders who aināt even your friends They just want division, want race war lit,
While they sit in mansions and stir up the shit.
Aināt no revolution in burninā your block,
Thatās a trap ā and you fell for it, watch I spit for the daddies workinā two damn shifts,
For the kids who dodge bullets and still exist.
For the mamas who pray with a hand on a Glock,
Tryna raise babies while you rage on TikTok.
This for the unheard, the lost, the dismissed,
The ones who aināt hashtagged but still got missed
This aināt hate ā this accountability pure,
This that moonshine truth, uncut, for sure.
No sides, no race cards, just streetlight facts,
While yāall worship felons and turn your backs.
Only march when the cameras on,
Throwin' bricks like your soul ain't gone.
But where you at when the babies drop?
Too busy gettin' hype for a media prop.
Iām that outlaw howl from the trailer park hills,
Callinā out the fake shit that truth always killsAnd Iāll scream it till Iām buried in red clay groundYou donāt give a fuck unless the worldās lookin' āround.
Country Lunatic
F.O.W.B INDEPENDENT RECORDS
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