"You wanna know what’s wrong with the world? I’ll brick it out for you." Builders grind while the city’s asleep, stackin' bricks while the suits count sheep. Sweat in the summer, freeze in the frost, carry the country — and still get lost. They ain’t on screens, they ain't on the news, but without their hands, you’d all lose. While you sip lattes, talking GDP, they work through pain and torn-up knees. They build — (you tweet). They bleed — (you eat). They think — (you preach). They grind — (you leech). Got clowns in ties makin' laws on lies, can't spell budget, but run your lives. Hire "experts" with zero skill, blow billions just for the corporate thrill. And voters? Yeah, they swallow the bait, clickbait rage served hot on a plate. You vote the madman, skip the facts, wake up broke — then blame some blacks? They build — (you tweet). They bleed — (you eat). They think — (you preach). They grind — (you leech). But yo, we ain't just victims here, we feed the fire every election year. Hate who’s different, love who’s loud, follow flags like sheep in a crowd. "God told me I’m righteous," you say, while pissing on the weak every damn day. Your “values” sound more like fear, disguised as pride in your cashmere. Look to the west, same damn fate, masking fascism as a national trait. Wave your flags, salute your star, then vote for death in a rental car. They sweat — (you whine). They grind — (you shine). They fix — (you fail). They rise — (you bail). "Strong nation, huh? Only ‘cause someone else holds the damn hammer."
