[intro- spoken word] You know, they call us the forgotten generation. -Small numbers. - Quiet. But if you look at the registries, you'll see we put on that uniform at the same damn ratio as our grandfathers in World War II. While the folks ahead of us were selling off the bricks, and the kids behind us were renaming the streets, someone had to actually keep the lights on. Let's talk about how we got here. [Verse 1- Rap] I was born in the shadow of the smoke and the steel While the world went to plastic, we stayed in the real Got a hat tip for granddad's generation -Thier boots in the mud Yeah, we carried that fabric, we bled the same blood They call us forgotten, a blip on the chart But we manned the line with a heavyweight heart Just a fraction of numbers, but heavy in ratio Putting the uniform on for the state show. See, granddad fought fascists, we fought in the sand While the boomers were busy just selling the land Yeah, you traded the factories for Wall Street and trend Cut down the marrow for a dividend blend Wechism took over—it’s all about "Me" "What can I grab from the top of the tree?" You hollowed the structural, cashed in the chip Left a skeleton crew on a sinking logistics ship. [chorus- sung] We drive the rigs through the black of the night We run the refineries, keeping it bright From the grease in the warehouse to timber that falls While the boardroom is printing out capital calls Yeah, we are the bridge that you forgot to maintain The Gen X producers who inherit the pain. [Verse 2- rap] Then come millenials -their first-world boutique Sipping microbrew stouts while the infrastructure’s weak Gentrified blocks where the welding shops stood Now it’s artisanal toast in a fake neighborhood You're so deep in the niche but you can't fix a pipe Living your life for the digital hype Got an app for the food but no hands for the plow Tell me who’s gonna fix what is breaking down now? It’s the "Me, Me, Me" era, a self-centered race From the Boomer expansion to Millennial space Wechism’s the gospel, the ultimate crime But the physical world doesn’t care about time The concrete is cracking, the grid is a ghost While you look for a lifestyle to stream and to post. [bridge- sung] We were raised on the gravel, the grit, and the gears We’ve been keeping this engine alive through the years A small band of veterans who stood in the gap While the culture collapsed into financialized trap. So keep your quick bucks and your curated view When the hard world breaks down, we ain't fixing it for you. [outro -spoken word] "Yeah... enjoy your microbrews and your stock portfolios. But remember, when the water stops running and the grid goes dark, you can't download a mechanic. We're still out here. But we're getting tired of cleaning up the mess."
