“Pimping People’s Pain” - (Old School Version)

he walk like a headline

dripping cruelty,

a back-alley prophet

selling nightmares in discount bundles.

____

he swallow the country’s sorrow

then spit it back

as propaganda confetti,

a carnival of broken bones

paraded for profit.

____

this man—

this hollow drum in a cracked suit—

beats his power

on the backs of the desperate,

turns funerals into fuel,

turns hunger into hustle,

turns suffering into his nightly bread.

____

but we see him.

we the smoke that don’t clear,

the truth that don’t bend,

the rhythm that don’t bow.

____

we the hammer in the heartbeat,

the bassline of the betrayed,

the uprising rising

from every block he forgot

on purpose.

____

and when he reaches again

to pimp people’s pain—

we snatch it back,

remix it into rebellion,

light it like a fuse,

and let the whole damn world know:

____

our wounds are not his weapon.

our grief is not his game.

our people will not be played.

©️MustafaSantiagoAli