15 Children of Lesser Gods

from by Rebel One

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Rearrange- your method of thinking
My criminal mind will leave your people bloated and stinkin;.
Profiling me is the dumbest thing you ever did
Or ever do, I'm one of few, make complicated effortless
Start wars with a chorus, take the vocals from Warwick
Distort it and force it into 4 fours, then recorded.
A horror story, stranger than fiction and bombin like Glory
The monster is me goin' Psycho, you humans bore me.

Rearrange- around the world, what you see in a black kid
Or brown ones, cz that kid's making it out,
Whatever your tactics are,
His words will water the drought.
You build up a prison that's part of a system
Deprive him of wisdom, but when he fights back
You crying the victim, muhfukka PLEASE!
Streets gleam with gold things, its named bling
Shiny things and Handcuffs, really the same thing.

Rearrange, what you've seen. Before.
Be changed. Things are not as they seem.
Whoa- Strange, fiends crawl in the dark
Shine your light, blow them all apart...

Rearrange- Fam, they shooting. Aw, made you
Look at the murderers with tax dollars paid to
Form a perimeter, ordered by the mayor
As warden lobbies the governor for monetary favors.
It's all game, we sliding on a chessboard
Pawns resort to prayer, begging to be blessed, lord
Knees scraped but got weight hid behind the headboard
Anything to feed the fam, hear the lioness roar

Rearrange-- we're children of lesser gods
We bang and hustle life to buy shit and press the odds
Want a record deal, for real, or maybe just be-cahz
And they know it, niggas frontin, always wanna flodge!
In the hood we love to get busy, right
Hump and have a good time, its no mystery right?
But misery comes close, when you got no folks
And all you can do is rap or become a ghost.

Rearrange, what you've seen. Before.
Be changed. Things are not as they seem.
Whoa- Strange, fiends crawl in the dark
Shine your light, blow them all apart...

(As the corrections officers drag Rebel back inside, he’s heard mumbling numbers- counting down from 100.)
“93, 92, 91...Hey. I need you to tell me something. Why do you do this? All these lives in here. All these stories. How can you tell who’s authentic? How can you tell who a real inmate is?”
“You wanna know the whys and hows? Well, it’s simple. We make rules that create you. You end up in here, because you sign up for it. Shit, you spend your whole lives trying to get here. And once you hit the front door, you’re ours for good. Generation after generation- we only release inmates to the public after we’ve propped them up for all of you to see. Next thing you know, we can literally pick which inmates we want- make it like a tryout for who gets the longest sentence. Friggin’ beautiful, ain’t it? Here’s your apartment. Enjoy your stay.”
“75, 74, 73, 72…”


from Tell My Mom I'm Sorry, released October 10, 2016



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REBEL ONE Jacksonville, Florida

I make hits. Born and raised into music, classically trained in percussion and piano from the age of five. Since 1995, I've been producing, composing, and writing music for a wide variety of genres and artists. Been around the free world, experienced cultures and music that helped forge an eclectic style that is likened to none other. ... more

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