Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song British Assassin, artist - Dan Bull. Album song Generation Gaming IX, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 02.09.2015
Record label: Dan Bull
Song language: English
British Assassin |
Over Oceans Civilisations behold. |
The UK taking control. |
A naval nation of old. |
Built on a foundation of coal. |
That was taken and sold. |
So they could pave it with gold. |
To make the altars that they failed |
to use to pray for the souls. |
Who Excavated and rolled |
Trains into stations to mould. |
The global stage where they where playing a role. |
For those who’d would later withold. |
Them from the tale it was told. |
to fate the brave and the bold. |
So they could claim it was sold. |
Instead they lay in deprivation and cold, |
Poor sanitation and mold. |
Without a savior to follow. |
It’s not like they can enrol. |
Rebel or make an assault. |
HALT! |
Enter Evie Fry and Jacob revolt. |
I am a british assassin. |
Rather proficient in fashion. |
Look in the mirror, Yeah. |
The image is dashing. |
I’m sending a Templar to hell, |
on every single ring of Big Ben’s Bell. |
I am a british assassin. |
Me and my sister are cashing |
In on the cities riches, |
And it’s flipping cracking. |
I send a templar onto the grave, |
For every soot stained cobble from which london is paved |
This is a major event, |
So you best pay Jacob attention. |
In an age of innovation, invention, |
Evie and me are the train and the engine. |
Slicing straight through tension, |
with a hidden blade too the tendon. |
How clear can I state my intention? |
Fed up of Gentry living rent free, |
While peasants pay an arm and a leg for entry. |
Don’t send for a detective, |
Let me make this Elementary: |
I’m That Assassin other chaps try and pretend to be, |
My enemy’s enemy’s potentially a friend to me. |
From Ezio to Edward Kenway through to Henry Green, |
Killing is our business, |
and in business, we’re immensley keen. |
Roughing up these gangs, |
Although there’s nothing in my hands. |
But a couple of brass knuckles, |
And a Kukri that I swang. |
From the stricken slums of Southwark, |
To the suckers in the strand. |
Suddenly snuck into a cab, |
And I’m just another chap. |
Strutting, Striding over Whitechapel, |
Landing in lambeth with ease. |
Bite the apple of eden, |
And plant the seed in london’s streets. |
Come and reap the fruits of our labour, |
And bite the hand that feeds. |
We’re the gang Anglia needs, |
The Assassin’s Creed. |
We studdy war to run like water through the ruddy order. |
Tending to every templar starting with that bugger, |
Bloody Nora. |
I make her Blighters face my blade and die, |
veins are sliced. |
Babtised by the rain at night, |
They wish they where safe and dry. |
So crack open a case of wine, |
Grab your glass and raise it high. |
Take your time to say goodbye, |
Yours faithfully, Jacob Fry. |
I am a british assassin. |
Rather proficient in fashion. |
Look in the mirror, Yeah. |
The image is dashing. |
I’m sending a Templar to hell, |
on every single ring of Big Ben’s Bell. |
I am a british assassin. |
Me and my sister are cashing |
In on the cities riches, |
And it’s flipping cracking. |
I send a templar onto the grave, |
For every soot stained cobble from which london is paved |
There’s little more goryier thing then living in Victorian England |