THE PRIMARY CREDITOR (Tribute to FBA)

THE PRIMARY CREDITOR (Tribute to FBA) Intro: [Music: A low, subterranean drone that vibrates the chest] [Spoken with cold, surgical, sovereign authority] The Voting Rights Act was not a gift; it was the construction of the legal floor that every immigrant now walks upon. Without Foundational Black blood, the 1965 Immigration Act would be a ghost—a door that remained forever bolted. The labor of the enslaved was the Start-up Capital for the American Industrial Revolution — By reneging on the "Fourty Acres," the U.S. entered a state of permanent default, effectively stealing the compound interest of an entire race for over one hundred sixty years — Let us not forget the Convict Leasing system—"Slavery by another name"—where the state functioned as a broker, selling FBA bodies to corporations to build the very infrastructure you see today. The debt is real. The credit is established. You are listening to the Primary Creditor speak. Verse 1 I know what your ancestors have been through, You should walk tall with your head high as the sky. An undeniable contradiction to this "Land of Opportunity," Where the gates were opened by the hands they let die. They deny the builders while they benefit the guest, Planting foreign seeds in a foundational nest. If it wasn't for their bravery, we’d have no chance To walk these streets without the iron dance. Chorus As a builder, on behalf of all the hands that burn bridges, Honor to your ancestors and Honor to you. Because I have a dream that Black people globally Will form one superpower—the only way through. One hand in the other, one heart in the storm, The only way the future will finally take form. Verse 2 I see the reneging of the donkeys and the land, The broken contract from a blood-stained hand. From the chains to the lynching, the war dogs of the state, Red-lining the future to seal a clinical fate. The Tuskegee needle and the Tulsa flame, Extreme barriers built to fracture the frame. I stand with the "X" when the wrong is being done, And I share the Dream until the battle is won. Chorus As a builder, on behalf of all the hands that burn bridges, Honor to your ancestors and Honor to you. Because I have a dream that Black people globally Will form one superpower—the only way through. One hand in the other, one heart in the storm, The only way the future will finally take form. Verse 3 Without your sisters, we’d be in the back of the bus, There is no "American Dream" without the "Foundational" us. I see the immigrant mocking what they don’t understand, Building a kingdom on your ancestors' sand. But I am a Citizen of Nowhere, a ghost in the air, Aware of the debt and the weight that you bear. Dissolving the fog of the systematic sleep, To claim the harvest that the builders should reap. Chorus As a builder, on behalf of all the hands that burn bridges, Honor to your ancestors and Honor to you. Because I have a dream that Black people globally Will form one superpower—the only way through. One hand in the other, one heart in the storm, The only way the future will finally take form. Outro: [Music drops to a heavy, cinematic low-frequency drone] [Spoken with deep, resonant authority] Let the record show the math of the debt. In the eyes of the Jealous Bride, we are all just bastard kids... unacknowledged, under-credited, and left to fight for the crumbs of her attention. But to the Foundational Spirit—the one who laid the bricks while the chains were still clanging—I see you. I see the frame you built for a house that tried to lock you out. The storm is ahead of us all, and the Bride’s rage knows no borders. Band together. Bridge the gap. Because a crown that is shared is a crown that can never be auctioned.