Tax-us Maoist

Don’t mess with Tax-us, is the motto they use,
subliminal injections, that our struggle will lose.
Don’t play into that Billy Box shit,
Anything will crumble, if strategically hit.

In the State of Tax-us, it’s the Tax-us two step. One forward, two steps back!
Pitting brown against white, which turns white against Black
To keep colors warring on each other,
So all groups are incapable to witness brothers.

I read the article, of fledgling plight,
Driven to point of frustration strategically attempting to fight.
Comrades gathered on a yard, to voice grievances to the man,
A peaceful sit-down was their ultimate plan.

Their custody is minimum, the industry has everything to lose,
many are unsure of tactics riot squads will use.
The days are gone where they’d brutalize one man’s race,
Now they’ll spray you with chemical gas and fold you up as a suitcase.

But majority tomorrow, they’ll file to chow hall, sit where they’re told,
to be fed rubbery pancakes that are usually cold
Then be rushed back to wings fueled for a productive day!
Forced to meet quotas, compensated no sort of pay.

Afraid to be written a bogus disciplinary case,
To be held in check, while confined to this place.
You’re housed in concrete boxes! like sperm specimens in a culture dish,
Checked by intimidation, you’re afraid to resist.

Then informers infiltrate, exposing what you plan to initiate,
forcing all backwards to stagnated state.
You’re one man, in many who burn with a vision we can achieve,
Now, we must convince other contingents to unconditionally believe.

Now locked in Ad-Seg we passed on the revolutionary flame,
You let them extinguish it so who you gonna blame?
What can they take from us now? or futuristically do,
So, ask yourself, are you capable to follow thru?

Comrades are all I got left, recently I kissed parole goodbye!
To charge the State of Tax-us it’s our final do or die
I’m going down swinging, gonna give one hell of a fight
It’s up to us comrades to unite for human rights

One voice alone, can easily be quelled,
They’ll strip you of everything to be locked in an Ad-Seg cell.
But multitudes of voices they’re forced to hear,
United comrades of all nationalities is what southerners fear.

They try to silence our voices, ignoring our needs
Are you afraid to be beat down, for the struggle, to bleed?
There’s a fever spreading across Tax-us, they cannot contain
Comrades who are infected become immune to the pain.