Tell me
What gives you the right
To tell someone how to live their life?
Actually why do you even care?
Grow up, realize that ain’t fair.
It’s their life, let em live it
If you want the same, you gotta get with it
It’s a real simple philosophy
Let people live their lives free


Dr. King had a dream
And what’s changed? Not a thing.
Sure, we’re better with the blacks now
But we find new groups to stack down
The Mexicans, the Muslims, the gays.
Claimin’ it’s a matter of faith
Faith in what?
Bigotry and hatred is all I see.
Who gives a fuck if I’m a tranny?
Or if I worship a different god than you?
Even though it’s the same god, I thought you knew.
Or maybe even lack a belief
And just want some relief
From the cruelty that has enveloped this world
Just because one girl loves another girl
And an old dusty book
Says what we want it to say,
Even though we don’t bother to look
Claimin god hates this or god hates that
I guess you must’ve taken a nap
During Sunday School, I read the bible front to back
And the only times it mentions hate
Is from the sinners who sealed their fate

So tell me
What gives you the right
To tell someone how to live their life?
Actually why do you even care?
Grow up, realize that ain’t fair.
It’s their life, let em live it
If you want the same, you gotta get with it
It’s a real simple philosophy
Let people live their lives free

Why do you hate people for wanting a better life?
Those who come to America to escape the strife
And just want a decent chance for their families
But instead get hit with derogatories.
You fail to realize they’re just like your ancestors
Escaping with their brothers and sisters
To a place with people different from them
Searchin night and day for a gem
Of a person to puh-lease help
But instead the police whelp
On them for taking the jobs
From the rich high-class snobs
It’s the same shit, different toilet.
America’s a melting pot? All you do is boil it
Put em all in, and make em come out as one
What you desire them to become.

Tell me
What gives you the right
To tell someone how to live their life?
Actually why do you even care?
Grow up, realize that ain’t fair.
It’s their life, let em live it
If you want the same, you gotta get with it
It’s a real simple philosophy
Let people live their lives free

You jump so quick to judge one another
But when it comes to you, it’s “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Practice what you preach, is that too much to ask?
Or is that out of reach, something that’ll never come to pass.
Startin to lose hope in humanity
Nearly on the brink of insanity
To kill another human being
Just for doin his or her thing
Instead of movin forward, we have regressed
And we are forever doomed to transgress
Unless, we start makin changes
Like Pac told us, to rearrange us
It’s tough to find a solution
Siftin through all the pollution
Of a country scared of the unknown
And politicians caterin to the zone
Of people who will reelect them
And whose statues they’re errectin’
Some things just stay the same
Pac had Life figured out like a game

Tell me
What gives you the right
To tell someone how to live their life?
Actually why do you even care?
Grow up, realize that ain’t fair.
It’s their life, let em live it
If you want the same, you gotta get with it
It’s a real simple philosophy
Let people live their lives free

Tell me
What gives you the right
To tell someone how to live their life?
Actually why do you even care?
Grow up, realize that ain’t fair.
It’s their life, let em live it
If you want the same, you gotta get with it
It’s a real simple philosophy
Let people live their lives free

The Machine
A Story by Chester Hammer


The whirring of The Machine is lost in the chatter
Nobody can hear what the fuck is the matter.
Even if they could, they wouldn’t care
They’d just deny it, and say it isn’t there.
“Nothing is wrong,” They say repeatedly
But there most certainly is
Indeedily.
They turn to The Machine and wait
To call me a new word of hate
 

From The Machine.

“That was the old us, we’re different now.”
Well let me ask you a question:
How?
The Machine still runs everything.
And they still bow down and sing
Praises from what they call above
Claiming that it’s god’s love.
They can’t see what they preach is hate.
And I do not appreciate
Them denying their own fate
 

That comes from The Machine

 
“This is the way it works”
Or so they say
“We’re simply better than you”
They repeat day after day.
They lump us all together
And call us all beggars.
In the end we’re all the same
Struggling on the same plain.
We are no different, not in major ways.
In the distance, a horse neighs
Carrying on the message of injustice and oppression
That they carry with them to the point of obsession.
They preach this as truths and further this hate.
Sadly this does nothing but close the gate
On reconciliation
We will never be friends, least not in this nation.
There is no way to change their minds
All efforts are just a waste of time.
It follows them from young to old.
There’s nothing you can do to break the hold

Of The Machine.

They may even say that what they’re doing is wrong
They feel sorry, but not for long
Their opinions are set in stone
Their own actions, they do not condone.
These hypocrites talk the talk
But never once do they walk the walk.
They say things will get better
But they’re so far in the deep end, they only get wetter.
They want to move forward
But what they move toward

Is The Machine.

They worship The Machine
Hide its existence but keep it clean.
They say they’ll quit but keep abusing
Like an addict who can’t stop using.
Like what they call
Those who stand up to injustice
If we’re crazy, no one has to listen
Or even entrust us
With knowledge and power.
It’s a late hour

But The Machine roars louder than ever.

Many acts make up my play, yet they only see the stage.
See it in a different light, and it’s never the same.
But they refuse to ever take the blame.
Blinders are what they wear, like a majestic mare.
Yeah they call themselves majestic, like a dream.
To me it’s just a nightmare. They want to gleam
Well so do I
But they tell me that’s not my place
I ask them why and they say my face.
I don’t understand this
They call me dumb
Maybe I am
Maybe my time will never come.

Says The Machine

I don’t even know myself this is so whack
I call myself this, but they call me that
So that
Is what I must be
But I just want
To be me
They tell me what I am hoping I accept
I want to refuse, except
It’s so powerful

The Machine

They say these things are true,
Yet spin their fables faker.
I hate The Machine,
This Label Maker.