| It ain’t about the tea and biscuits, I’m one of those English misfits,
|
| I don’t drink tea I drink spirits, and I talk alot of slang in my lyrics,
|
| These goes a horse, horses for courses, nah more like corpses on corners,
|
| And Staffordshire Bull Terriers and late night crawlers,
|
| Polics carry guns not truncheons, make your on assumptions,
|
| London ain’t all crumpets and trumpets, it’s one big slum pit.
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| This is the picture I painted my low down, This my London that I call my home
|
| twon,
|
| It’s where I’m living and this is my low down,
|
| This is my England I’m letting you know now,
|
| No I don’t watch the Antiques Roadshow, I’d rather listen Run the Road,
|
| And smoke someone’s fresh homegrown,
|
| And not get bloated on a plate of scones,
|
| Cricket, bowls, croquet, nah PS2 all the way, in an English council apartment,
|
| We don’t all wear bowler hats and hire servants,
|
| More like 24 hour surveillance and dog shit on pavements,
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| This is the picture I painted my low down,
|
| This my London that I call my home town,
|
| It’s where I’m living and this is my low down,
|
| This is my England I’m letting you know now,
|
| Big up Oliver Twist, lettingus know the nitty gritty of what London really is,
|
| It ain’t all pretty, deal with the realness, it’s all gritty, deal with the
|
| realness,
|
| Ohh the changing of the Queen’s guard, that’s nothing for me to come out of the
|
| house form
|
| Tra la la, I’d rather sit on my arse,
|
| And have a glass of Chardonnay, nah
|
| We ain’t all Briget Jones clones, who say pardon me,
|
| More like gwanin mate, You get me…
|
| Now i can select a few, paper people like to reject all my views,
|
| Well I’m letting you know the news and
|
| well, this is the straight up truth,
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| We ain’t all posh like the queen, we ain’t all squeaky clean,
|
| Now do the Tony Blair, throw your hands in the air now everytwhere,
|
| This is the picture I painted my low down, This my London that I call my home
|
| twon,
|
| It’s where I’m living and this is my low down,
|
| This is my England I’m letting you know now, |