Street Lights Hum on a Broken Block/ Shared Value /Dónde Da-Dye (Cover… (Mashup)

[INTRO – Fog, Tape Hiss & Thunder] Streetlights hum on a broken block, crown slips off, but the chains still lock, tape hiss linger like ghosts in the stair— truth gon’ rise though the rich don’t care. Mi a stumble ova mi own chest, drown inna likkle lettres mi neva fi escribir, Peel the paint back, see the primer of the planet crack, stratified layers of a liar’s habitat, topsoil glitter, underneath it bones and data racks. Art—like Ma—live inna di interval, the breath before di cutoff, di unsounded syllable left inna di throat of creation… Even inna di fog… even inna di shadow… di truth can breathe… [Thunder / Crowd] (I REFUSE! I REFUSE!) Kick it, kick it — white hats in the building. [VERSE 1 – Basement Static / Broken Systems] I was born in the basement of a broadcast, static in my crib, lullabies were forecast, Mother said, “Hush, baby, truth is overcast,” Father said, “They sell the chains and call it free at last.” White hats / tight stats / syntax in collapse, kickbacks / anthrax / paper‑trail traps, leaders with briefcase / blood on the floor, children eat glass just to open the door. Mi count all di pesos weh vanish inna di dark, fall tru di cracks a favors, fear, empty desk, numbers on a spreadsheet harvested heartless, turn grief into profit margins, flawless. We’re data‑mined diamonds, refined into habits, scroll till we numb, docile as rabbits, algorithmic Sabbath, confess we sins to a screen made of plastic. Mi wish mi cud erase di signatures, di lies— Sirens sing sideways on a one-way track, Refuse in the gutter but mi tek it back. Snap‑back, glass crack, Nixon on the wire, spit that rage till the city’s on fire, truth in the cipher that the liars evade, wordplay jagged like a rusted blade. [HALLS, CROWNS & CLOUDS] Mi a scream at di halls, di fog, di bureaucracy, upper tier sipping wine with the serpents, bottom rung drowning in detergent commercials, scrubbing blood out di rug but di stain still surface. To those who patrol the corridors of bureaucracy, clothed in linen of neutrality, when does curation become suffocation of di imaginative nerve? Mathematics in the storm, lines indivisible, glass shatter crown, truth undeniable, cipher in motion, rhythm recursive— bars so eternal, verses re‑immersive. Open the ocean, chandeliers fall in the ruin’d nation, roots still bloom through the ash and rain, storm‑born hymn in the hunger pain. Let the clouds collide and the oceans shake, let every wrong crumble, let the hearts awake. From horizon to horizon, let the tempest go, let it teach the kings, let the seeds we sow… [PRE‑CHORUS – Interval Before Impact] Art—like Ma—live inna di interval, the breath before di cutoff, di unsounded syllable left inna di throat of creation, By viewing absence as productive desire, di system chart out managerial libido, choreography of longing and incompleteness— Singin’ with the shadows where the dawn won’t show, harmony breakin’ but the roots still grow, cry for the crown in the midnight rain— storm still hums through the hunger pain. Even inna di fog… even inna di shadow… di truth can breathe, Expose di knots… hidden hands… let di people see di rot… let di shame speak… [HOOK – Cage, Crown & Gate] Look— dem tell we di cage was a castle, di shackles were fashion, di struggle a hassle, If you don’t make it big, is a flaw in your hustle, never di system weh rig every raffle. The 7S chart like stained‑glass windows, strategy, structure, systems glowing— but crack in the frame, the silence where di boardroom numbers start showing the bones beneath di profit game. Who’s that knockin’ with the blood on his shoes? That’s me at the gate screaming, “I refuse!” [Crowd] I — REFUSE! I — REFUSE! Up roar, down roar, the skies start thunder—Rooooooar! Let the people rise, let the free winds blow! [BUILD – Data Winds & Digital Leviathan] In di clouded metropolises of cyberspace where algorithmic angels hum in procedural harmony, censorship wear a halo, speak soft of protection while trimming di edges of di subversive. Crazy Frog pon di boardroom screen, hyper‑commercial rhythm of digital noise, yodel loop riding di quarterly report— management, marketing, myth pon di same frequency, di hum of capitalized desire under fluorescent halos. Mask on crooked, white hat tilted, verse so cryptic, contracts wilted, chandelier crumbs in the pocket of the thief— villain keep receipts in a rhyme motif. Rattle‑battle static / patterns erratic, automatic panic / chandelier dramatic, syntax splatter, chatter / data‑blood sporadic— storm‑born addict with a rhyme fanatic! Run‑it‑up, run‑it‑up, storm gon’ shake, flip‑it‑up, flip‑it‑up, crown gon’ break, drip‑in‑the‑blood / chandeliers in the mud, march in the flood, / truth rise from the crud. Blood in my fists, fire in my breath, I REFUSE to quit,