| I pray to God to keep me sane;
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| Blaze the herb, ease the pain
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| Take some time, breath again
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| We need a change
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| Instead of blottin' B again
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| A circle of deceit again, circle of deceit
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| Where man’ll merk you off your feet
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| Never to make it past 33
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| Flip the triple 6 and you can see it’s an emergency
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| Hurting me internally
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| Burning me like 3rd degree murder
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| In paradise and all I’ve got is my Firma team
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| Yeh, and these are deep days with inner city decay
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| Where you could get your feet raised on any given week day
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| When we rave, we blaze
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| Swimming in linen, and rhythms spinning no replay
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| But we don’t want no beef mate
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| Spray up this pussyclaat place like CK
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| Yeh, blud it’s E8, E5th ride or die duck of dive, still life fuck the 50
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| Yeh, cause this is my life, jankrow drive-bys high-rise estates
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| Doors with iron gates, brers with iron face
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| With eyes on them waste, with their eyes on the place
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| Yeh, and this is our life, jankrow drive-bys high-rise estates
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| Doors with iron gates, brers with iron face
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| With eyes on them waste, with their eyes on your papes
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| Yeh, but still we’re on the paper chase
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| Looking for the pagan’s face
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| Many thing I take in place
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| Many nights I laid awake
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| Knowing that danger waits with fate
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| Outside my gate
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| Brave friends with smiley face
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| Man who sliver like slimey snakes
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| Chat a bag of poop to my face but behind me hate
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| Bhudda man it’s time to make moves like a black Moses
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| More than the eyes and case
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| Till our people rise again
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| Yeh And this one’s for my cold D’s who roll deep
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| Hold heat, roam street with no sleep
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| Yeh, shit is so deep
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| Shit heads OD found dead up in Old Street
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| Old folk so weak so broke
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| So pissed, broke lift
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| Kids cotch on top of stairs and smoke spliff, smoke 'til they’re roasted
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| Pull out the Dragon Star and toast to the ghosted, those we lost, closest |