Texty: Verse. Aggression. Sons And Daughters.

We're the sons and daughters of the poor man, the middle class man,
forced down to serve by the rich man's hand. This is the perspective
of a poor dead man's son, another kid that had to run, another life
struggling in the age of the gun. Running was only temporary, I tripped
up and I fell. I've learned from what they wanted: Silent people living
in hell, where we're taught there's a price for every man and a price for
every piece of land. Thrown into a life of stagnance, your mind's a Jail.
You're raised for profit and you were born to fail. Sometimes stepping out
of line and walking away from all you know is the hardest thing to leave
behind. A new life defined, now we can defy the greedy men with the greenest
of minds. We never wanted to be seen as a commodity, I refuse to be an
object of a vision that blinds me.
Aggression.
I gotta break the mold.
Aggression.
Never let them take control.
Aggression.
Hands in shackles, Mind's confined to a cage.
Aggression.
I won't stop until I've broken every chain