lirik lagu jungle emcee - loot scripts of jharkhand
“in the heart of india’s minerals, there lies a wound… carved not by nature, but by greed’
yo
land rich in ore, folklore’s ignored
boardroom overlords swordfight with accord
forge rights on stolen nights, ink ’em in blood~typed
contracts with contact mines—every clause a floodlight
grit~stained syllables, tribal epistles dismissed
missiles in fiscal cliffs, masked as mineral gifts
they pitch development—settlement myths
but dig deeper, it’s evident: benevolence drifts
villagеs vanish, vanish in ash and coal trails
code~switchin’ in hindi while the local soul fails
palе~faced agents with a three~piece grail
auctioning forests over carbon credit sales
loot scripts written in a dialect of greed
read between the greed lines—watch ’em concede
from the iron to uranium, stolen in the breeze
jharkhand bleeds while the corporates feast
see
pages get turned while the land stays scorched
scars on the soil where the bribes got torched
laws bent like spoons in a psychic’s porch
where the sc/sts get ghosted in reports
multinationals in camouflage—pr in mirage
posing as gods with a csr collage
step through the miry swamp of signatures and seals
where a handshake can erase seven generations’ fields
even gods in stone get displaced by chrome
ancestors evicted from their spiritual homes
while drones map zones for resource extraction
every village resists with fractured factions
they call it progress
but progress for who?
when the trees cry, and the rivers turn black…
who’s left to speak?
backchannel meetings in a chai~stained booth
truth tied in loops—parliament proof
loot isn’t loot if it’s taxed and smooth
so they launder the sin in a development suit
naxal whispers in the forest fringe
but the real terror lives in a legal binge
ink and industry, policy prints
turn the state into a vending machine for the rich
word to birsa, they still fear the spear
but now they draft bills instead of drawing near
still
a child with a stone and a memory seared
is louder than a mine’s million~dollar sneer
loot scripts written in a dialect of greed
read between the greed lines—watch ’em concede
from the iron to uranium, stolen in the breeze
jharkhand bleeds while the corporates feast
“you cannot own the land… it breathes through us… we will return…”
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