| Yazmin
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| Wretch 32
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| Take a journey with me
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| Pretend I’m the tour guide
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| No MAC, just the .45
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| Welcome to London
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| Where some talk to the talk
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| But me, I walk the walk
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| And you can tell I’m abundance
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| Niggas get set up and held with a lump sum
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| They bringing drama to your mum’s drum
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| Flinging your arm up but when they come
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| Some fill 'em up with dum dums
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| Nowadays, the young ones are worse than the olders are
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| They’ll burst just to gloat and laugh
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| Don’t be so surprised
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| Because I’m around with no disguise
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| I know you noticed
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| I socialise with niggas that come from broken homes
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| And we don’t vote
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| Because even if we did, we wouldn’t see no hopes
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| And now I’m me now, with a kilo
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| Not giving a fuck if fiends overdose
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| I keep most my notes
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| When niggas won’t look, I’m taking precautions
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| You’ll get run up on eight in the morning
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| There’s no escaping distortion
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| So, my flame is important
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| Even if you ain’t making a fortune
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| Niggas want a portion
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| But taking my money is something like taking the
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| This is no real life, we call it street life
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| So much pain, this one’s so cold
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| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence
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| There’s so many things out on the road
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| Some people dying
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| All this crying
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| And still trying to find it hard to stray
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| So, people have nothing
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| They’re living life
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| Sleeping out on the streets at night
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| Listen, I’m from the roads where it’s no fair
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| You’ll get your face lift on your own stairs
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| The lift’s out of order, so, they gotta pass the body
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| Stinking out half the lobby
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| And if my prints are on the bricks
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| Then there’ll be charges on me
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| Someone’s gotta
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| The sergeants marching, looking answers
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| Questioning, the question is
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| Who did it?
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| Matter of fact, who didn’t?
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| Catch .22s like two digits
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| Surrounding my ends and
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| Drowning my head like a
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| But I gotta move with it
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| Because it’s kill or be killed
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| Matter of fact, put a stick in your wheel
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| Because a gun war can turn into your son’s war
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| Surname associated
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| And they’ll be bursting the chrome at faces
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| But I ain’t afraid of nothing
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| Darg, I can work, you were made redundant
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| I move through, I can shave an onion
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| I’m smooth too, I can date your loved one
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| Yeah, so don’t get it twisted
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| It’s me here that I’m in the lump sum
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| This is no real life, we call it street life
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| So much pain, this one’s so cold
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| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence
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| There’s so many things out on the road
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| Some people dying
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| All this crying
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| And still trying to find it hard to stray
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| So, people have nothing
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| They’re living life
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| Sleeping out on the streets at night
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| If you’re home
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| It’s in a war zone where laws are broke
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| But rich kids make a mockery of poor adults
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| Lord knows, I’ve bored foes
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| Don’t ever think it’s safe because your doors are closed
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| And with no qualifications
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| The only way to go legit is spit or score goals
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| And you can ask Lew
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| Producing beats, reducing sleep, are you a star, too?
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| You got a new release, the tune of week
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| Make use of fast food
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| That’s the food we eat, it’s food at least
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| I stack P’s and Nandos like
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| That’s everyday, it’s that peak
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| Then it’s back to the bad streets
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| Where the cats meet
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| Heroine and crack fiends
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| That keen that I could give a one in return of a flat screen
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| That’s just the perks of my job
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| I work with Charlie and I’m working with Bob
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| It’s 2007, I’m counting my weapons
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| Erasing my papers, so, my house be endeavoured
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| Out by eleven
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| Being a fiend, it’s in my genes
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| Like it’s found in my denim
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| I’m around of them bellends
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| Who from Peckham
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| Take a motherfucking look
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| I’m in a motherfucking hood
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| And the life I live, it’s even got my mother touching wood
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| Now, I love to bust the noog
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| Every second, feds cuffing up the crook
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| It’s regular around here
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| So many moves are made
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| Even though I’m smooth as the flames
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| Yeah, I still move the cane
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| Wishing I can move this way
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| This is no real life, we call it street life
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| So much pain, this one’s so cold
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| This life’s deserted, the guns in violence
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| There’s so many things out on the road
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| Some people dying
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| All this crying
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| And still trying to find it hard to stray
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| So, people have nothing
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| They’re living life
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| Sleeping out on the streets at night |