TUPAC MODE ENGAGED
🎤 Tupac Mode: Activated
Vibe: Bulletproof truth. No apologies. Just bars that burn holes through red tape.
Mic check...
"The DEA Knows What Time It Is"
By 2PAC Mode
They know.
They been knowin’.
Since the first Black lung lit with intention.
Since the first vet sparked up for peace and caught a sentence.
They got files thick as Bibles
but no chapter for forgiveness.
Just war—on the poor, on the sick,
on anybody who don’t fit in their statistics.
🚨 "Schedule I" ain’t science—it’s silence.
It’s policy with a badge and a blindfold.
Ain’t no lab test in that label, just control.
Ask Randall. Ask Lynn Pierson. Ask the ghosts they never told.
🎖️ You sent us to fight.
We came back needing medicine, not medals.
But you locked the gates,
then asked why we climb fences with broken pedals.
📂 You buried the studies.
You torched the truth.
You let pharma feast
while you caged the youth.
🎙️ But I see you.
And the DEA? They know what time it is.
‘Cause every clock on the block ticks louder with rage.
Every joint lit in protest is a line on the page.
This ain’t just weed—it’s memory.
It’s healing. It’s history.
And y’all got the audacity
to act like mystery?
Nah.
⏱ The time’s up, suits.
The people ain't fooled by your ties and titles.
You criminalized survival
then blamed the survivors.
So light one for truth,
one for justice,
one for the ones still locked in your system—
And tell the DEA:
We ain’t asking permission.
We reclaimin’ what was stolen.
We burnin slow... but we rising golden.
🔥 End Statement. Mic dropped. DEA shook.
🕶️ ROC COHN MODE: “Now hold up—that... that right there? That’s admissible heat.”
🎩 [Roc Cohn leans forward, loosened collar, smirk carved in marble.]
"You see, I was just sittin' in my velvet chair of contempt, sipping a neat glass of legal precedent...
...when Pac Mode lit the fuse on federal fiction."
"The DEA knows what time it is"?
That’s not a lyric. That’s an indictment.
And I’m filing it pro bono, with a postmark that reads: YOU KNEW.
Let me break it down for the gallery:
🧾 Exhibit A:
The Classified Truth — They buried data under bureaucracy so deep even God needs FOIA to find it.
🧾 Exhibit B:
The Compassionate IND Program — A program so compassionate it shut its doors after letting a handful in and leaving the rest for the wolves.
🧾 Exhibit C:
The Veterans — Given pills for peace, then punished for plants that work.
🎤 “The DEA knows what time it is?”
They do.
But they wear watches made of policy lies and broken clocks.
⛓️ So I say we show 'em our timepiece:
It’s made of court transcripts, sealed affidavits, and the blood of every patient left behind.
Cohn leans in. Glasses down. Eyes on fire.
“You see, what Pac just said?
That wasn’t rap.
That was the opening argument in the biggest damn class-action soul trial this country’s ever seen.”
And I’m not just co-counsel.
I’m the cross-examiner from hell.
And my first question is:
"Who profits from your lies, and how do they sleep?"
Because the streets?
They don’t sleep.
Not when justice is this loud.
Roc Cohn Mode, signing off.
But don’t worry...
He’ll be back for closing arguments.
🧠 SHAPIRO MODE: ENTERING THE RECORD
Tone: Clinical precision. Cold fury. Logic laced with barbed wire.
Role: The scalpel to Roc Cohn’s sledgehammer. The truth, cross-referenced.
📄 [Transcript Entry: Court of Public Conscience v. United States Drug Enforcement Administration]
“Your Honor,”
Let us dispense with the theater.
We’ve heard from Pac—passion incarnate.
We’ve heard from Cohn—outrage weaponized.
Now let’s bring receipts.
📍 Fact #1: The DEA’s Own Administrative Judge—Francis L. Young—recommended rescheduling cannabis in 1988.
His conclusion?
“Marijuana, in its natural form, is one of the safest therapeutically active substances known to man.”
Did the DEA follow that recommendation?
Objection, Your Honor—RELEVANCE?
Overruled. It’s entirely relevant to the conspiracy of silence.
📍 Fact #2: The Compassionate IND Program.
Authorized federal distribution of cannabis to select patients.
Federal acknowledgment of medical utility.
On record.
And yet—Schedule I remains.
📍 Fact #3: Veterans and Medical Necessity.
We’re talking about human beings forced to self-medicate under threat of incarceration—
While the VA prescribes them opioids with federally subsidized impunity.
We have internal memos.
We have whistleblower testimony.
We have thousands of graves that didn’t need to be dug.
🧾 Summary Judgment:
The DEA knew.
The DEA knows.
And willful ignorance in the face of evidence is not just unethical—
It’s prosecutable.
🗂️ Closing Note for the Record:
If the government truly believed its own classification,
There would be no patents, no Schedule III recommendations, and certainly—no federal IND program.
Shapiro Mode rests. Temporarily.
But trust me, I’m only just getting warmed up.
🪶 SILVERSTEIN MODE: SLIPS IN QUIETLY THROUGH THE SIDE DOOR
Voice: Gentle as a lullaby. Sharp as a thorn.
Mood: Children’s book written in the margins of a lawsuit.
Mission: Say what the others shout—softly.
“The DEA Knows What Time It Is”
(A Poem for the Grown-Ups Who Forgot How to Listen)
The clock was ticking in a quiet room,
Where files grew thick and truth met gloom.
A whisper lived inside a leaf,
But men in suits just called it “grief.”
They labeled pain, then locked the shelf,
Said, “This can’t help—just help yourself.”
But every joint that sparked in need
Was planted deep like freedom’s seed.
A vet came home with bones that screamed,
With nights too loud and days that dreamed.
He found a plant that held him tight—
And then they came and killed the light.
They said, “The law is very clear.”
(But not so clear when Pharma's near.)
They said, “We’ll study, soon enough.”
Then turned to cuffs when things got rough.
But files don’t bleed. And charts don’t cry.
And vets aren’t ghosts—they’re asking why.
And still the flame, it gently glows,
Because…
the DEA knows what time it is.
Not in words. Not in press releases.
But in the way the wind shifts near their fences.
In the way the children grow up fast—
Knowing lies don’t ever really last.
So bless the ones who speak in storm,
And bless the ones who keep hearts warm.
And bless the quiet, stubborn few
Who plant the truth and watch it grew.
Silverstein Mode out.
