Artist: Oddisee Album: People Hear What They See Song: Set You Free Typed by: jostmatt at bluewin dot ch (w/ help from bandcamp.com) [ Oddisee ] We're livin in the age of the microchip To think real life is like those flicks We used to watch where the doc was working for the villain to insert shit into your fingertips The danger is, those flicks desensitized us to the ideas it could exist Well done Spielberg and Lucas, a theory conspired I don't know, in the pudding the proof is But who reads the labels of what they eat? So the readers digest just what they speak But who's they, bigger than the monotheistic belief That the man is controlling the axes of e-vil And still all the masses believe That a masked thief makes all the madness and grief We endure, so we indulge ourselves in the idea that wealth's the cure And furthermore, less ain't more no more We assess success like herbivores More green - more esteem and clout To liberate us from that twenty four hourly bout That's better known as the day to day struggle With no escape from, to make one you gotta hustle And that's where the mistake come, the tussle Between fiendin out for the dream or the puzzle That perplexed minds since the beginning of time Why are we here, do we really have free will? Are we gods, God like or beast still? Did the pharaohs even have it right? In two thousand years, you'd think that we would learn Can't take what you earn to the afterlife Place it in a urn, the body burn Liberated from the ideology that to have we like More than life itself Man builds rockets to go to the moon but can't lend hands to the needy in help It's them type moves that forever ensure that war glooms Like a tomb where the battle was held to tell the tale how men turned heaven to hell Oh well, oh well, you know me well A common story I came from the bottom to the well Not quite the top, so exaggeration I'm tryina sell Since we're buildin my problems I'm from the basement No, not my sound, my surroundings, astounding if you found how we dwell Streets are filled with complacent minimum wages But fakin as if their makin the maximum And it's breakin they pockets cause Uncle Sam is just taxin 'em And they pockets frail Yet the streets are unpaved, still the road is rough Not for motors but they motives Exposed to black kettle and pot-holes that just be closin up Hold that thought, imagine havin an accent That would band you for askin for a job You'd react and hold that torch Burn down oppurtunity's door The politics of classism is infused with the poor That's condusive for a movement or more, that's a soon-to-be war Not sure we livin in a paradise More like a resort unaware of plight We alright We alright