Gli Eastern Sunz fanno rap e in “Up in flames” non parlano di soldi, cocaina e puttane, ma di guerre, riscaldamento globale, terra e futuro. E tante altre cose. Si, ok, vivono a Portland, ma vi rendete conto? Esistono ancora persone così. Fierezza. In ogni caso, pur avendo vinto premi su premi per le loro liriche impegnate, sul tubo hanno poco più di diecimila views. Dai, dategli un ascolto, che se lo meritano.
Invece, per sapere cosa fare se il mondo è up in flames, leggere il testo qui sotto:
Stop the presses and strike up the band,
cause I came to send a message with the mic in my hand.
People fighting over resources, dying for land,
and we just let the evil empires try and expand.
We can bury our heads or draw a line in the sand,
against the ones ready strike and lay you right where you stand.
Live a firestarter, die a martyr, sayonara,
aint no time for waiting on a knight in shining armor.
The planet’s gotten rotten at the surface and the core,
and the people walk around without a purpose anymore.
The tip of the melting iceberg, it’s just getting warm,
we’ll need one hell of an umbrella to weather the shit storm.
You gotta ask yourself what your gonna do,
when we see world war three and civil war two.
And quite frankly I don’t know about you,
but when shit hits the fan I won’t be trying to stay cool.
Said one, two, one, two,
said I don’t know what to do.
So many problems to solve,
no time for getting involved.
My only hope is there’s a future for kids,
forced to grow up on a planet where it’s hostile to live.
Earth Mother, god we failed in so many ways,
look to the skies, they’re polluted and gray.
Clear-cut forests bald-headed, totally shaved,
topsoil erodes and all the animals fade.
How we make it to this horrible phase?
Corporatocracy clench the whole world, sell their soul for what pays.
We’re a virus like the bird flu and AIDS,
educated with good grades, still we don’t know how to behave.
There was a time when fresh water was still drinkable,
now that be unthinkable, Pepsi bottle it and sell it to you.
There’s nothing in the world like sitting under a tree,
but carnage be the only thing that I see, and tree stumps.
Cause we dumps pollution into oceans and streams,
transforming them to toxic it seems,
there’s no regard for other living beings, just the diamonds and bling,
infatuation with material things.
The world going down in kerosene dreams,
conflict diamond in the rough, sipping poison out of streams.
It’s progress, baby, I mean deformed babies,
Monsanto thanks thee for consuming the virus.
Now let’s contaminate the dirt, extrapolate the worth,
laminate the hurt, dominate and intoxicate the Earth.
Word to wasteland, industrial taste, waste bland,
pass the petrol chemicals so I can build castles out of radiated sand.
Bathe in blood bank, bailout, fractional-reserve system, sell out,
genetically modified monster made out of carcinogens and fallout.
Now fill out these forms,
Big Brother is watching you getting high off the toxins.
Of course, better open your eyes before you wake up,
and hear the sound of troops boots marching.