Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Trouble, artist - Kano. Album song Hoodies All Summer, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 29.08.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Parlophone
Song language: English
Trouble |
The young people have begun the rebellion, refusing to work |
They have received very little support from other sections of the population |
As a consequence of which, they must find money by these means |
We say we are against those means |
Not because we are moralists, not because we are religious freaks |
But precisely because mugging involves loss of life and liberty |
And the continuing attack upon that section of the black community |
Police brutality, prison brutality, a whole wastage of human creativity |
That is why we’re against it |
Politician, hush don’t make a sound |
Been oppressin' us couple centuries now |
And these gunshots never reach your town |
It’s never on top when you leave your house |
But when we go servants, we might run into some beef or somethin' |
Rambo, tuck into the jeans or somethin' |
But the beef, please drop it, 'cause it don’t make money |
All our mothers worry when we touch the road |
'Cause they know it’s touch-and-go |
Whether we’re comin' home |
And either that’s for shit that could happen to us |
Or the shit we might do if you violate the code |
It’s turnin' over new leaf times |
Moschino jeans full of peace signs |
Post code war, and that’s the thing now |
Young bucks beefin' over street signs |
You ever seen a mother’s tears run down Gucci glasses? |
That imagery will hit you deep and cut through the hard shit |
A hood potential not reached due to gun barkin' |
Is bad business for the ends, man, I’m done talkin' |
It’s all fun keepin' score when it’s one-nuffin' |
Till loved ones get nuppied then cited nine nights |
Any beef can be squashed if hands could be shaken |
Any hand could be shaken when the blood dries |
I guess that’s not a thug line |
But Camden Town to Plaistow, that’s where the thugs die |
Where the slugs fly, then the doves fly |
And if you say you like beef, then you thugs lyin' |
These are my words to us, no tongue-tyin' |
If you stay up writhin' till the sun’s risin' |
You’re just tryna get one, or get bun tryin' |
Then we ain’t on the same side |
Of this Sterling lining |
Politician, us don’t make a- |
Trouble, trouble, I don’t need no trouble |
Trouble, we don’t want no trouble |
I know some Young’uns that would beef on the main road |
Violate the clique and then the K go |
They will off a bruddah on my say so |
But when they give 'em thirty, could I look Mum in the face though? |
Concrete roses, they really grow, she can see my whole set |
Don’t watch the Rolex, just watch the progress |
From mopeds, coke heads and the old Ghetts |
15 with a dream, 20 with a gold disk |
21, second crib before I got my own whip |
27, 28 and 9 was my lowest |
30, re-upped again, 32, more checks |
So why would I throw away life for some jokers? |
Hopeless, ain’t blocks with no Lopez |
Opps in the focus, I know the roads, yes |
But when the goal’s bread it makes no sense |
Less condolences and more congratulations |
Brought a smile to my face, I heard that Sammy’s trading |
Kate just had a baby, D’s a uncle ain’t he? |
Just got off the phone with Shane, he’s invested major gravy |
Ghetts ain’t looked back since we blessed them stages |
Now man are steppin' on planes without bredren aiding |
Still conflicted 'cause man a bust gone on Netflix |
But I show you both sides of the fence, watch out for splinters |
Rats and sinners, gangsters, killers with straps and ringers |
Taxin' figures, your stash was dinner, ugh |
My only obligation is give inspiration |
This the winners table, and here’s your invitation |
No sparklers over here and all the women taken |
We just pop bubbles, pour doubles, we want one no trouble |
Whine till gyal, we want no trouble |
Just spend three grand, we want no trouble |
Four more bottles, we want no trouble |
Don’t mean we’re scared of nobody |
Life just too short for the bullshit man |
Politician, hush don’t make a sound |
Been oppressin' us couple centuries now |
And these gunshots never reach your town |
It’s never on top when you leave your house |
But when we go servants, we might run into some beef or somethin' |
Rambo, tuck into the jeans or somethin' |
But the beef, please drop it, 'cause it don’t make money |
Policeman, hush, don’t make sound |
They lockin' ghetto youths up, centuries now |
And these gunshots never reach your town |
It’s never on top when you leave your house |
But when we go servants, we might run into some beef or somethin' |
Rambo, tuck into the jeans or somethin' |
But the beef, please drop it, 'cause it don’t make money |