PROFIT OFF YOUR RAGE

Yeah. Wake up, check the feed, check the timeline.

They got you spinning on the wheel, man. Listen.

You're scrolling down the screen just to find out who you are —

who are you? — copying the dance of a viral digital star.

The algorithm locks you in a teenage state of mind;

if it isn't trending then you leave the truth behind.

Left behind. Left behind.

Look at how they hyped up that fast fashion clothing line,

made a million kids buy the chemical design.

Turned out it was toxic, full of lead and cheap thread —

popular opinion had you misdirected, misled.

Neurotransmitters getting hijacked by the view,

dopamine loops got you doing what they tell you to. Wake up.

When you only mimic what is flashing on the screen,

you kill the raw aesthetics of the subculture scene.

The brain becomes a copy of a copy in a queue —

no original thoughts left inside of you.

They monetize your youth while your self-esteem fades,

trading innovation for some temporary craze.

They forcing down popular opinions,

they are trying to make us minions,

slowing down our thoughts so we comply and make them millions.

They lock your vision in a digital cage,

feeding you a script while they profit off your rage.

Yeah — they profit off your rage.

Now the grown folks trapped in political debate,

taught to suck up the memes that manufacture all the hate.

Checking out the headlines while you're riding on the train,

letting talking heads put a filter on your brain.

Remember when the masses said the housing market boomed?

Popular opinion had the working class doomed.

2008 crash left the neighborhood broken,

blindly trusting states and symbols softly spoken.

Cognitive conformity is shrinking down your scope,

trading your awareness for an AI artificial hope.

When the hive mind dictates how you feed your own clan,

you lose the deep precision of a self-made plan.

They keep you working hard just to buy the newest brand

while the actual agenda slips right through your hand.

No time to create when you're chasing that consumer high,

bowing to the system just to visually comply.

They forcing down popular opinions,

they are trying to make us minions,

slowing down our thoughts so we comply and make them millions.

They lock your vision in a digital cage,

feeding you a script while they profit off your rage.

Yeah — they profit off your rage. They profit off your rage.

Filter out the noise and let your spirit breathe.

Break away from strings that the puppet masters weave.

True artistic vision needs a quiet space to grow —

don't let their agenda stop your natural flow.

Bring the bounce back. Let it work. Look.

To my artists and musicians selling out for the metric,

wondering why the energy is no longer electric.

You tweaking your lyrics just to fit a short clip,

letting tech executives control your mastership.

Look at popular opinion saying real artists dead,

pushing AI generators into your creative head.

The whole industry panicked, started copying the machine,

losing all the soul that used to keep the culture clean.

Synaptic pruning happens when you stop original thought —

the brain dissolves the pathways that can never be bought.

When your canvas is restricted to a pre-approved mold,

the darkest social agendas easily take hold.

They foster division while your creative spark dies,

masking all the malice with some bright digital dyes.

Reclaim your own mind. Break the sign, rip the chain.

Put the soul back in the rhythm. Let the true art reign.

They forcing down popular opinions,

they are trying to make us minions,

slowing down our thoughts so we comply and make them millions.

They lock your vision in a digital cage,

feeding you a script while they profit off your rage.

They profit off your rage. They profit off your rage.