| Is this the way that it is?
|
| Or the way that’s it gotta be?
|
| Date-rapes and robbery
|
| Shops hotted up, bruv
|
| It’s just like Monopoly
|
| Lifelines slide on like prices of property
|
| High crimes and violence in this life of democracy
|
| Nice times seem like a lie or a prophecy
|
| We gotta stop the poverty
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| Stealing it from the lottery
|
| Bredders are just a mockery
|
| Fiending it like Pete Doherty
|
| Dreaming of living properly
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| Living is what I gotta be
|
| What I gotta be
|
| As the daybreak wakes
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| I see a darker sun
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| Is getting knocked off the world
|
| And disaster’s come
|
| It’s got the father:
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| «I'm lost for the answers son.»
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| Like a last breath straight from my tarred up lungs
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| I’m so cross with the world that my scars leak blood
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| It’s insane. |
| My neck’s hung
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| But not from death, from shame
|
| I feel strange as I pace these plains
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery, graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images I’ve seen in a dream
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery; |
| graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images making you scream
|
| I’ve seen A-Grade straight take, rape and cave in brains
|
| But my mate stays quicker than rate of our climate change
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| Shit’s fucked up bruv, it’s like the diamond trade
|
| And the fact that the state pays straight
|
| Wastes papes at a minimum wage
|
| It’s despicable mate
|
| Yo! |
| A million villains are chilling, billing, dealing, killing the living
|
| Until they slip into prison
|
| It doesn’t make a difference if they really did or they didn’t
|
| The silly judges make the fickle decisions
|
| With little admission
|
| That’s what’ll cripple the system
|
| At a militant rate
|
| And every minute it’s raised
|
| So I’m livid with rage
|
| Living in hate as the wickedest breh
|
| Depicting pictures, grilling victims with the lyrics I make
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| It’s sticky business building quickly on the illest estates
|
| A million slaves
|
| Grace the image I place
|
| Right here
|
| Living here in the city which is filling with rage
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery, graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images I’ve seen in a dream
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery; |
| graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images making you scream
|
| Yo! |
| I’m sly with the mystique
|
| Depicting these sick dreams
|
| Through means of a slipstream
|
| Pristine screens slip clean off my lips like
|
| Leaves in the wind’s breeze
|
| Under the tree of mystery I bleed imagery
|
| Sick with the wish of a winning streak
|
| Sins speak deeper than the whisper from the Grim Reaper
|
| Grips around your heart in a second like a seizure
|
| The streets bring the heat like you’re living with a fever
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery, graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images I’ve seen in a dream
|
| Force-fed imagery on the airwaves
|
| Force-fed imagery; |
| graffiti on the staircase
|
| Force-fed images straight to your screens
|
| Force-fed images making you scream |