This World, A Mind Prison
This world, mate, it ain’t free —
It’s a mind trap, a headlock, a ghost gum tree
Where the roots don’t dig for you or me,
They dig down deep for the lords up top,
While we’re out here, burnin’, workin’ non-stop.
They tell ya: “Work hard, son, that’s the key.”
But truth is, mate, that ain’t how it be.
It ain’t what ya know — it’s who’ll let ya in,
One handshake in a marble hall
Worth more than ten years down the sloggin’ wall.
You reckon it’s fair? Reckon again.
The race don’t start with an equal pen.
We line up staggered — some halfway done
Before ya even tie ya boots and run.
By the time we get breath, they're already fed
Sittin’ back on their yachts, full of bread.
While you’re breakin’ back for a crust and pay,
They’re out eatin’ sandwiches, tucked away
In suits that cost more than a ute,
Talkin’ tall tales ‘bout freedom’s loot.
And on election day? What a show,
Two prizes, mate — both full of blow.
Rotten like a possum caught in the heat,
Turds in the sun, wrapped up neat.
And you stand there, pen in hand, thinkin’ you choose —
But brother, that choice? Set up to lose.
Cameras on poles, cameras in stores,
“For your safety,” they say, but that’s a bore.
Cameras ain’t got arms, mate, no legs neither,
They ain’t catchin’ crooks — just the battler breather.
One fine here, one clip there,
Fillin’ their pockets while we despair.
Superannuation — what a scam,
“Save up for retirement, ma’am.”
But those up top, soon as they’re done,
Take their fat pot and off they run.
They sip on scotch, toast to the sky,
While you and me, mate, we scrape and sigh.
See it clear:
Idle men in idle suits,
Guards round ‘em like golden fruits.
But not for protection — no, mate, see —
It’s to keep out blokes like you and me.
They got the key, but we do the grind,
While they write rules that chain the mind.
You want a trade? You want to learn?
Only if ya pay, only if ya burn
Half your life and all your gold —
While they inherit silver bowls.
They say:
“Be grateful, lad, this is the land of the free.”
But free ain’t fences, cameras, and fees.
Free ain’t licenses just to fish,
Free ain’t bein’ taxed for every dish.
We live in a pyramid, upside down —
But the point ain’t low, mate — the point’s the crown.
We carry ‘em all on busted backs,
While they sip wine and cut us slack
Only when it suits their tale,
Throw us crumbs and call it a sale.
So don’t look up — they’d have ya blind.
Don’t believe their chat or the ties that bind.
Look around, look low, look in,
The prison ain’t steel — it’s under your skin.
A mind trap, brother, as old as dirt,
Where the rich wear silk, and we wear hurt.
But we know now, and that’s the start —
Crack the chains, tear ‘em apart.
One by one, we wake and rise,
See through the suit, the badge, the lies.
Mate, it’s a mind prison — but we’ve got the key,
It’s in calloused hands and minds set free.
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