Run as fast as you can away. The corporate greed is after you.

Title: “Shadow Streams”
(Intro)
Yeah…
Late nights, cold screen glow.
Max on the track.
This one’s for every artist watching numbers not add up.
(Verse 1)
Woke up, checked stats with a hopeful grin,
But the numbers look hollow like a ghost logged in.
Plays disappeared like they slipped through cracks,
Every stream I earned got lost in the app.
Zona in the shadows with a polished UI,
Saying “trust the data,” but the data don’t lie.
Comments from fans saying “bro I hit repeat,”
But the dashboard telling me I barely compete.
Independent grind, no label machine,
Just sweat in the mic and a laptop screen.
Every spin supposed to build that base,
But somebody siphoning digital space.
Feels like echoes in a hollow hall,
My voice gets heard but I don’t see it at all.
Algorithm whisper, “pay to be seen,”
While passion’s buried under profit’s sheen.
(Hook)
Where my plays go? Who counting right?
Why my numbers fade overnight?
If art’s just data in a corporate maze,
Who really profits off my plays?
I built this sound from a basement room,
Now it’s floating somewhere in a server tomb.
Zona, tell me what you done—
I’m still rapping like I’ve already won.
(Verse 2)
I ain’t mad at tech, I respect the code,
But transparency lightens the load.
If streams get filtered, bots get cut,
Show me the math — don’t keep it shut.
Fans send screenshots, “yo I streamed all day,”
But revenue chart barely moved my way.
Independent artist in a digital cage,
Fighting quiet wars on a quiet stage.
It’s not just ego, it’s rent and time,
Hours invested in every rhyme.
When platforms eat what creators sow,
That’s seeds that never get to grow.
Still I press record, still I rise,
Truth in the track, fire in the eyes.
You can clip my stats, you can trim my chart,
But you can’t algorithm my heart.
(Bridge)
Maybe it’s a glitch, maybe it’s greed,
Maybe just numbers I don’t yet read.
But every system built by man
Can tilt the scale with a hidden hand.
So I document, I build direct,
Own my masters, self-respect.
If one door skims what I create,
I’ll build ten more — won’t hesitate.
(Final Hook / Outro)
Where my plays go? I’m still here,
Mic in my hand, voice crystal clear.
No app can steal what’s truly mine,
Connection deeper than a timeline.
Zona might hold the streaming gate,
But art don’t bow to a data state.
If they mute the count, I’ll amplify —
Real fans hear me, numbers don’t lie.
Yeah.
Plays or not —
I’m playing forever.

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