That's it
Turn the page on the day, walk away
'Cause they're sensing what I say
I'm 45th generation Roman
But I don't know 'em
Or care when I'm spitting
So return to your sitting position and listen it's fitting
I'm miles ahead and they chase me
Show yer face on TV, then we'll see
You're can't do half, my crew laughs
At yer rhubarb and custard verses
Yer rain down curses but I'm waving,
Yer hearse is driving by
Streets riding high, with the beats in the sky
All stare, eyes glazed
Garage burnt down, the fire raged
For 40 days and in 40 ways
But through the blaze they see it fade
The sea of black, the beaming heat on their faces
Their figure emerges from the wasteage
Eyes transfixed with a piercing gaze
One hand clutching a sword raised to the sky
They wonder how, they wonder why
The sky turns white it all becomes clear
They felt lifted from their fears
They shed tears in the light
After 6 dark years
Young bold soldiers, the fire burns
Cracks and smoulders
5 years older and wiser
The fires are burning on fire, never tire
Slave warriors in the forests and on higher
We sing, hear the strings rising
The war's over, the bells ring
Memories fading, soldiers slaying
Looks like Geezers raving
The hazy fog over the bull ring,
The lazy ways the birds sing
A new babys born every day
Few men may be spoilt today
But look at things the other way
Cos it may well be yer final day
And then the crowds roar they slay, they all say
I produce this using only my bare wit
Gimme a jungle a garage beat and admit defeat,
Use war and past injury as my metaphor and simile
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