Capitalism Infiltrates the Hippie System

tart now, our hearts sound in unison,
mentality focused on salary but that isn’t inherently a part of me,
this democracy ontop of me is obviously a mockery,
this job I work is a modded form of slavery,
the question is who is going cave first - them or me?

This is our moment, our mission is precision
a decision to become the people we are wishing
populate the world around us and create a new edition
to stop bitchin and stop snitchin, stop standing on ledges
sqwaking and acting just like we are pidgeons.

Stop it now, common back and replace that feeling 
of disgrace for a emotion you can embrace,
you face is straight up laced with intimidation you need to erase,
can’t start to state the truth if you’re always the one
giving chase.

We’ve got hearts we’ve expanded and 
for our demands we can’t be reprimanded
they act like this is all good but it cannot be our standard,
in this protest we’re having a flow fest,
if we can’t change their minds we’ll raise a different banner.

What manner of person is this who can suggest,
that we leave the death there dying if they can’t afford another breath?

It’s our money and our wraps and our tilted caps,
we act like we’re granola, like we’re f*****g taking it back,
but we’ve lost our track. 
It’s whack, this hierarchy which we stack
these cliques talking s**t, try to be Positive when all you do is subtract.
When I listen to the hate which people speak, calling their brothers and sisters freaks,
for wearing body paint and glitter down on Shakedown Street.
When did capitalism infiltrate this system to a point that we’re incapable of sharing
each other’s wisdom? When did we find ourselves trapped in the mainstreams prison?
I go questions and I’m not going to make this an inquisition but 
did you leave out all the loving people when you made this decision? 
It’s like religion, just damned cause we’re not them,
really too bad because some of those fools were my friends.
We’re grouped up like gangs with blood gemstones lodged in our rings,
and we walk around like we’re the popular kid in high school, 
guess the joke’s on our culture, and that’s just the f*****g thing:
Who determines who isn’t cool enough? Who isn’t fool enough?
When I fell in this pool I thought we all would rise above.
But I guess the missions outdated when the world doesn’t give a f**k,
somewhere smiling and standing sandel-less screaming “Where is the love?”

Reviews

[mary mary quite contrar..]

your poem sounds like an occupy "anthem" I like it
Denver is my hometown-I am missing it!

[rabbit]

Nice. You've got powerful words. this sounds like a good rap, lay down a good beat to it and I'd jam to this