| Young bull at the top of the block with the white front door and the corner |
| subtle |
| Cool, but he always in trouble |
| Why you think his bredrins called him Knuckles? |
| Ten years old in beef, dad thinks street’s takin' over me |
| Mumsy prayin' for me, but there ain’t enough beads on the rosary |
| Raised by the wolves from young, but still in the jungle like Mowgli |
| Always up front when the olders speak |
| So was never as dumb as ones s’posed to be |
| Twos in the spliff by the lift |
| It be what it be and it is what it is |
| They said if I tried it, they wildin' |
| And kickin' my shit 'cause it isn’t for kids |
| 4th floor’s where my ting would’ve lived |
| If her fam never moved out to Harrow |
| Her dad was a pastor and marge was parrow |
| I’d take her daughter off the calm and narrow |
| Yout with the peppercorn, yeah |
| I know it seems kinda deep, but they thoughts was shallow |
| Spent my whole life on the market as the target that they point they arrows |
| Control it, then I pass it to Paolo |
| Young kick abouts on Albert Road |
| Coach said «Come down to trials» |
| 'Cause I could have got scouted, but I was at home |
| Or I was outside with the homies |
| If only I could’ve advised me now |
| But even if I was down and out |
| I still come back to Alpha House |