We're the sons and daughters of the poor man, the middle cla** 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