Split Prophets - Drop Of Poison | Текст песни

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• Split Prophets
• Drop Of Poison

I like my town
With a little drop of poison
Nobody knows
They're lining up to go insane

[Datkid]
Yeah, Yo, Yo
It's just another day without a dollar
I'm praying out to God, but
He ain't listening to what I'm saying when I holler
I'm trying to do my music and be making money proper
But I don't want to sell my soul to snakes wearing collars
Be a victim of the industry; get raped for my honour
Want to make it look like I'm getting famous and hotter
I'd rather do it my own way and do it proper
Learn to work hard 'til I'm a scholar
Yeah, sometimes I don't live right
I get drunk and hit guys
Terrorise people wearing their jeans skin-tight
Naughty by nature so at times that's how I live life
I forget to think right then wonder why it brings fights
But still, deep down inside, I know I should think right
Develop my skill until it goes from big to king-size
I hope you're prepared; I'm here without an invite
Giving you an insight on how the fuck I live life

[HOOK]

[Hi Res]
Come check my ways, there's breys with crazed faces
Jakies, fakes, racists, rapists, Babe [?]
Laces make chases, chases stay hating
Blazing days waste to tame by brain raging
It's like we're trained to make our days wages
Plates get scraped stainless breys will blaze vagrant
Blades and aim flamers, taking change changes
Fuck their wars, it's fraud to make papers
Corpses stain pavements, courts'll frame cases
Ought to make payments, playing the same game as
The people stood in front of them, criminals run this country
Men and women working under them, feels like I'm under ten
Thousand tons of pressure so I burn the pain to nothingness
Ain't nothing better when you're stressing, getting wet in the weather
Depressed and letting it wreck ya
You gotta keep your head straight, stay awake, and never let up

[HOOK]

[Hi Res & Datkid]
Yo, we jam in places where there's piggies always close by
Never keep a closed eye in case a copper roll by
Trying to claim we stole bikes, then search us with those old lies
You've got no lives; fuck off, piggie, go die (ha)
Try to confiscate my weed and my spraypaint
Take my name, age, and address to do a [?]
Mate, it's a crazed state where the papers made many wage slates
Save pennies, make change is my motto, cotched in the grotto with a bottle
And a big ziggie lurking round in the shadows of sin city
Brisk, often shitty, it's grimy, grim, gritty
Where police show no pity for kiddies – [the kiddie's witty]
Sick kids will stick you with shivs for six guineas
Yeah, shit, really, but I love it, though
Spit a bit of poison on these dirty roads, bro, then I'm running home


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