You wave your hash like a crown. You talk shit and throw your weight around. You think a warehouse full of rigs Means you own the road we walk on. You forgot one simple truth— Every block still answers to us. Who drives this thing? Who holds the wheel? Who decides What’s fake or real? Not the suits. Not the rigs. The heartbeat ain’t in ASIC fans. It ain’t in boardrooms making plans. It lives inside ten thousand homes, In stubborn hands that stand alone. Every node another witness. Every check another oath. No permission. No authority. Just mathematics keeping score. Mine the blocks. Do your work. Collect your fee. Know your place. You’re not the judge. You’re not the law. You don’t define What Bitcoin’s for. You can burn a thousand megawatts. You can build another farm. But every block you try to twist Gets rejected without harm. That’s the firewall. That’s the cure. That’s the reason Freedom endures. When miners served, The network grew. When users spoke, Bitcoin broke through. But the day the workers rule the shop, The day the hired hands command, Bitcoin dies a quiet death Inside a corporation’s hands. We’ve seen this all before. Money buys another war. First the influence. Then the rules. Then the useful idiots become tools. They’ll call it progress. Call it scale. Dress surrender as the norm While they pull the rug beneath your feet. No. Bitcoin’s rules ain’t for sale. Every node, another heartbeat. Everyy reject, another scar. An immune system that’s built to last. Cypherpunks lit the fire. Freedom kept it burning. Bitcoin wasn’t born To answer to industry. Hashpower follows. Consensus leads. Always has. Always will. Who drives this thing? The quiet node That says “No.” The one in a basement. The one in a spare room. The one they never noticed. Because that’s where Bitcoin lives. Run the node! Hold the line! Don’t trust. Verify. Who drives this thing? WE DO.
