BREAK THE DESIGN

Testing, one, two.

Look at the map they drew behind closed doors, 1974.

Henry's ink bleeding through the soil of our ancestors.

They calculated our births, weighed our minerals, and divided our minds.

But the rhythm of the heart can't be institutionalized.

Listen close. Feel the soul.

They write the blueprint, we fight the front line,

We spill the blood while they pocket the gold mine.

No human dignity, no feeling in their calculation,

Just corporate profit built on broken nations.

But blood is thicker than the wine you pour,

Africa stand up, it's time to settle the score.

From the delta to Bogotá, break the design,

We got to heal the culture, reclaim the mind.

They pinned the target on Nigeria, watched the oil burn,

Export the crude, leave the youth with nowhere to turn.

In Bogotá they feared the young, labelled them a threat,

Instead of fixing land they left the countryside wet

With tears of campesinos fighting ghosts in the grass,

While the boardrooms in D.C. watched the bank accounts amass.

See the drama in Ethiopia, the famine in the dirt,

They traded self-sufficiency to weaponize the herd.

In India, the emergency, the forced operation,

A dark sterilization of a beautiful nation.

Now look at how we act, this behavioral conditioning,

We fight each other daily while their ships are still provisioning.

We guard their pipelines, we police our own brothers,

Blaming the neighbour, the tribe, and the others.

They reap the outcome of the friction that they manufacture,

While the dignity of human life is targeted and fragmented.

They write the blueprint, we fight the front line,

We spill the blood while they pocket the gold mine.

No human dignity, no feeling in their calculations,

Just corporate profit built on broken nations.

But blood is thicker than the wine you pour,

Africa stand up, it's time to settle the score.

From the delta to Bogotá, break the design,

We gotta heal the culture, reclaim the mind.

To all the freedom fighters who once stood for the block,

Who traded in the sandals for a presidential clock.

We see you in the mansions, we see the puppet strings,

Carried away by the wealth that the system brings.

You're sitting at the table clinking glasses with the master,

Signing concessions that accelerate disaster.

But remember the oath, remember where you came from,

You cannot feed the elite and think the crumbs will save some.

The wine you share is stained with the sweat of the street,

While your people walk barefoot with nothing to eat.

You traded the movement for a seat in the theatre,

A domesticated lion turned into a cheap pleaser.

Wake up from the trance, break the colonial spell,

You can't build a heaven using blueprints from hell.

Step away from the banquet, look your brother in the eye,

Before the ink on your legacy runs completely dry.

Can you hear the ghost calling from the middle passage?

Can you hear the prophets trying to leave a message?

Listen to the wind blowing through the acacia trees,

It's time to get up off our knees.

Rise up Africa, remember the voice of the king…

Let the freedom ring.

Marcus Garvey told you look to the east for the crown,

No mental slavery can ever keep a conscious mind down.

Patrice Lumumba gave his life for the Congo's deep soul,

Before they dissolved his body just to keep the control.

Kwame spoke the truth: united we stand,

One continent, one people, reclaiming the land.

They warned us of the traps, they exposed the design,

They told us that the border lines were drawn to divide.

So why we still sleeping? Why the vultures are feeding?

Why we still bleeding? Why the corporations are leading?

Thomas Sankara's ghost is walking through the marketplace,

Reminding us that dignity can never be a charity case.

Turn the music up, let the ancestors speak through the bass,

It's time for the global family to take our rightful place.

One love. One continent. One destiny.

Division was their plan — but unity is our answer.

To the puppets: drop the wine glass, the blood is calling.

Bob, Marcus, Patrice, Kwame — we hear you.

The fight isn't against each other.

Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.