Karma

(Nas / Living Legends cadence, layered multis, Mathias Rowen-style internal stacks [Verse] I study structure while they shuffle funds under the rubble, Public trouble bubble double-talk, budgets get subtle, Justice complex rise, metal detectors and muzzles, But justice for the restless gettin’ left in the puddles Sequestered investments, questions get pressed in the shuffle, Silicon seduction, production lines hummin’ the hustle, NVIDIA chips stackin’ visions, algorithmic ambition, While addiction victims drift in conditions nobody mentions Waterfront visions, polished partitions, partition the poor, Corporate endorsements absorb what was yours at the core, Tourists record it, distorted importance, imported allure, While boarded-up corners got more of us caught in a war Court orders ordered in quarters where order’s a myth, They audit the poor but the audits of power get skipped, I’m caught in the rift of a system that offers a gift Wrapped in red tape with a “just be patient” script Perpetual union, illusion of mutual movement, Articles argued but modern execution is ruthless, From Articles of Confederation to the constitution’s contortions, The poor get proportioned to portions of portions of portions I seen the design in the lines they define as “development,” Revenue relevance measured in who they consider “relevant,” Evidence evident, never benevolent settlements, I’m wrestling sediment settling heavy in tenements Addiction’s affliction conflicting with system restrictions, Eviction’s the fiction they fixin’ to stick in your vision, Conditioned to listen to whispers of “personal failure,” While billion-dollar builders get built off the backs of the failure No tribunal for truth, just the usual loops, Where the proof gets reduced and the youth get recruited to lose, I’m speakin’ from bruises accrued in the shoes of the used, Tryna fuse what is true with the view from the news So I weaponize words, let the letters develop the verdict, Every predicate dead in the head of the negligent service, If the system ain’t servin’, I’m servin’ the sentence myself, Self-evident hell when you’re left on the shelf But I’m still in the field, never yield to the weight of the will, Buildin’ with skill through the ill, through the filth and the guilt, If they never reveal what is real, I will Put the truth in a rhythm they feel… and it still won’t be killed.