Yeah... My story deeper than the mines in Rustenburg, Still tryna heal where the freedom songs never sung. Born free, but the chains just invisible now, Loadshedding dreams, still we hustle through the dark somehow. From the Cape to Kinshasa, the plot been twisted, Leaders in suits, but the poor still evicted. Gold on the land, but the kids play in dust, They say we rich in soil, but the future’s in rust. Police on the corners, same fear as the past, You hear the shots in Soweto, they echo in Gqeberha fast. Mama sellin’ vetkoek, just to cover the books, While the pastor preach hope, but he drivin' a Merc. Africa cryin’, but the world don't flinch, So we write our pain in verses, every line a clinch. I ain't tryna make it out—I’m tryna build within, One verse for the soil, one prayer for our kin.