| Behind my painted smile when all the revolutionary noise is nothing but a lost
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| little boy
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| Confused and insecure, arrogant and oversure
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| An egotistical prick so come on please praise me more
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| It’s great that my music bettered you but I contemplate murder every day so
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| don’t put me on a pedestal
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| Plus truly, just the vehicle the music just runs through me
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| In my better moments I could let the universe use me
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| Behind my smile there’s generations of pain, self-hatred, ingrained miseducated
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| my brain
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| Decimated the place where my dead relations were slain
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| Not just physically but mentally penetrated our veins
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| What you got inside hasn’t gotta die once it can die a lot of times,
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| that I promise my son
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| Analyse every song that I’ve done — tryna fight colonialism with a colonised
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| tongue
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| Here I stand again
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| Living in sin
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| Caught up, in the dream
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| Behind the painted smile
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| Behind my painted smile is the most painful grimace
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| This mental prison I live in cause I am so conditioned
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| By my privilege, what a strange contradiction
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| To grow up brown in Britain and know that your living
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| Was paid for by a carcass that resembles yours
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| Born in the heart of the empire
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| You’re worth more than others just like you
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| But less then the native ones, raised by my mum but in this world I am a
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| father’s son
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| Behind my painted smile, a very flawed human being
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| Done many things that I regret and never knew the reason
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| What do you believe in, truth or freedom or are you deceiving?
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| I don’t wanna die in prostration to European’s
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| They say the answer is within you and nowhere else
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| Understand the vision man on a mission to know himself
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| This is for my co-defendants no retreat and no surrender
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| You probably think that we don’t remember Ota Benga
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| The smile is painted on my face is tainted by a frown
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| Picture in the pocket’s of blood that decorate the town
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| Trigger jum bullets sung and guns hum
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| Then everyone that’s dead was somebody’s someone
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| Behind my painted smile I feel like a naked child
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| Maybe rapping ain’t for now cos my passion is fading out
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| Up early though I search and roam along this dirty road
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| Just another traveller taking a long journey home
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| All this talk of intervention to protect on what is the intention
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| Same as it ever was the colonial past and present
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| And more respect for most of the right wingers
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| Than the paternalistic patronising liberal bigot
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| Our way of life is so divine, we should intervene
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| Select war and export the British dream
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| Behind cinema screens there’s much that isn’t seen
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| George Clooney war movies never bring our children peace
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| Yo fam, you ever wake up and just feel like fucking off, and never coming back
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| to this place and just cutting off?
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| All the time, almost did last year the trouble was the bloody cops had me
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| running in and out the bloody dock
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| I been there brother, though I don’t promote it in this rap shit,
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| I ain’t a stranger to having my back on their blue plastic
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| Can’t keep us captive
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| We see the tactics
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| To keep us passive
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| We beat the fascists
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| Release the classics
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| And reach the masses! |