I hear folks talkin’ ‘bout light like it belong to ‘em.

Like they discovered it. Like they trained it.

Like they invented the sun.

They talk ‘bout destiny. ‘Bout prophecy. ‘Bout how they been chosen, frozen, and slow-roasted by the heavens themselves… Whole lotta glow for somebody still bangin’ shins on furniture in the dark.

Seems to me everybody wanna be the light these days, but ain’t nobody wanna pay the electric bill. They come marchin’ in real serious. No jokes, no rhythm, no hips in the walk, lookin’ like they swallowed a whole church bulletin sideways.

They say the world endin’. Say the darkness risin’. Say the serpent slitherin’ ‘round like it got season tickets and a backstage pass.

Mm-hmm… I hear all that.

But light ain’t impressive to me.

I grew up around stage lights, baby. Seen bulbs burn out mid-sermon. Seen spotlights lie straight to your face and smile while doin’ it.

Just ‘cause you glow don’t mean you holy…

It just mean somebody forgot to turn you off.

These light warriors treat faith like a uniform. Cut their hair. Cut their names. Cut their smiles clean off, standin’ so stiff you’d swear joy cost extra – chasin’ monsters like it’s a salaried position with a pension plan. 

But faith ain’t a hunt. Faith ain’t no march. Faith ain’t cosplay with better lighting.

Faith is a switch – and I don’t wrestle switches.

I flip ‘em.

See, when one of these glow-boys step up, eyes shinin’ like high beams, talkin’ ‘bout tribulation and judgment and the end of everything good? I let ‘em talk. I nod. I sway. I listen for the rhythm behind the noise – and then…

Click.

Lights out.

No debate. No prophecy-off. No holy stare-down. Just one smooth motion, like turnin’ off the kitchen light when nobody in there eatin’, and all that glow gone like it had to be somewhere.

They look around confused, reachin’ for a power that ain’t there anymore, askin’ who messed with their light.

And this week, Lux, baby – that’s on me.

Ya see, Bellator, I don’t fight light. I don’t wrestle darkness. I don’t chase serpents ‘round the block feelin’ important.

I control the room, and once you understand the room, you understand everything in it.

Boys like you think you savin’ the world one dramatic entrance at a time, but I’m just makin’ sure you don’t trip over your own spotlight.

Truth is, anybody can glow, brother – but that don’t make ’em legit.

Me? I move different. Funk in my feet. Thunder in my shoulders.

I preach loud, laugh louder, and dance while I’m exposin’ you.

Every step a sermon.

Every spin askin’ why your faith got a dimmer switch.

That ain’t faith, baby… That’s mood lighting.

So go on – shine as hard as you want, cracka. Pose for the crowd. Holler about the end of days like you been rehearsin’ it – but remember this…

Ram Jam don’t argue theology.

Ram Jam don’t fear prophecy.

Ram Jam just reach out real casual like he changin’ the station and say…

“Who left this light on, shamoan?”

Click.