d**d Presidents

[Verse 1] They say money talks, but I’ve heard it scream louder than God. It breaks up families, starts wars, leaves streets scarred. We worship green paper like it bleeds salvation, But it poisons the roots of an entire nation. I’ve seen brothers k**l brothers for a pocket of bills, And the rich sip wine on the Capitol Hills. Dollar signs tattooed on the eyes of the blind, While the homeless dig for food in a city of grind. Wall Street’s a casino where the house never loses, And the brokers pop bottles while the workers tie nooses. Every mansion’s foundation sits on b***d and sweat, But the poor pay the tab with their last regret. They call them “d**d presidents” but the truth is cruel, ’Cause the d**d never rest when the living still rule. It’s a godless religion, it’s a scripture of greed, And the pulpit is a wallet where the faithful still bleed. [Chorus] D**d presidents rule the land, Holding power in a paper hand. We pray, we f***t, we bleed, we spend, But the money don’t love you in the end. [Verse 2] I watched a preacher preach fire with a Rolex on, Talking heaven in the future while the offering’s gone. I watched a mayor shake hands with a dealer in suits, While the block burned hot and the kids pulled roots. Every campaign’s a circus, just a dollar parade, Vote bought and sold like the lies they made. Corporations write laws, politicians sign checks, And the poor get sentenced while the rich get blessed. You can’t buy time, you can’t buy peace, But they’ll sell you a coffin at the funeral feast. Every g*n, every w*r, every drug that we see, Got a price tag tied like a dog on a leash. So I rap for the workers who sweat through their shirts, For the mothers on EBT who still make it work. For the hustlers who pray for a way to ascend, But the ladder’s been broken by d**d presidents. [Chorus] D**d presidents rule the land, Holding power in a paper hand. We pray, we f***t, we bleed, we spend, But the money don’t love you in the end. [Verse 3] The ink runs deep, it stains every choice, From the pills in your palm to the sound of your voice. We chase what enslaves us, we die for a wage, We’re just actors reciting lines written on a page. Every cop in the street, every soldier abroad, Marching orders printed on a bank account fraud. Even love feels cheap when the rent’s past due, When the landlord’s rich off the sweat of you. But I won’t kneel to paper, I won’t bow to the crown, I’ll rip bills in half just to burn them down. If America’s religion is a wallet and pen, Then I’ll write psalms for the people, not d**d presidents. [Bridge] So light a match to the lies that they’ve sold, Let the fire eat the paper, let the ashes grow cold. If the value of life is a dollar and cent, Then we’re already slaves to d**d presidents.