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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