Dropping Philosophy Dropping Philosophy Dropping Philosophy Dropping Philosophy Dropping Philosophy I’m dropping philosophy, not conversation, hard truths loaded with no decoration. Thoughts hit heavy when the mask comes off, whole room quiet when the false gods cough. What’s real? What’s self? What’s choice? What’s fate? Who built the cage and who guards the gate? You call it order, I call it control, you call it comfort, I call it a hole. I seen free will fight chains in the dark, seen good men fold when fear leaves a mark. Morals get rented, truth gets taxed, power writes history and buries the facts. Dropping philosophy, black-coat prophecy, mind-state weaponry, no weak apology. Dropping philosophy, cut through the pageantry, truth with a pulse and a mouth full of battery. I don’t talk just to talk, I detonate thought, make the whole room question what they bought. I don’t preach, I provoke, I expose, I ignite, drop one line and the silence gets bright. The world is a mirror with a crack in the glass, every king is a question with a crown on his ass. Every law has a shadow, every saint has a stain, every pleasure got teeth, every loss got a name. Meaning ain’t found in a book on a shelf, you drag it from the wreckage and build it yourself. The void don’t blink, so I stare right through, if nothing means nothing, then I choose what’s true. Cause and effect with a boot on the neck, choice or illusion, place your bet. Are we moving free or just following code? Same old soul on a borrowed road. Dropping philosophy, black-coat prophecy, mind-state weaponry, no weak apology. Dropping philosophy, cut through the pageantry, truth with a pulse and a mouth full of battery. I don’t talk just to talk, I detonate thought, make the whole room question what they bought. I don’t preach, I provoke, I expose, I ignite, drop one line and the silence gets bright. Language breaks where the real gets deep, some truths wake up while the words still sleep. You can name the wound, but it still bleeds red, you can own the map and still die misled. Identity shifts like smoke in a room, same face, new war, same birth, new tomb. You are not your title, your money, your scars, you are what survives when they strip the bars. So bring me the system, bring me the lie, bring me the reason men kneel before sky. Bring me the fear that they dress up as law, I’ll put a match to the myth and describe what I saw. Dropping philosophy, not soft, not safe, truth walks in with a scar on its face. Dropping philosophy, pressure and nerve, every line bends what the weak men serve. I don’t talk just to talk, I detonate thought, make the whole room question what they bought. I don’t preach, I provoke, I expose, I ignite, drop one line and the silence gets bright.
