Now I’m not so ghetto and I’m not so hood,
But check out my lyrics and you’ll see they’re all-good,
You could blend dem with party tunes ya have fun to,
Then play dem at rave ya don’t carry no gun to.
I’m not smoking Havana’s, I don’t need a drink,
Cos I come to spit & dance not to make my clothes stink!
Just think, top rappers on da cris and da the Hennessey,
Sober for one night many more reloads those men ‘ud see!
I don’t wanna sound off like some rapping evangelist,
But could Ali have been ‘The Greatest’ if he’d a fought pissed?
See I try to float through my flow, control my tongue like his fist,
Message delivered with a sting - with out a beat being missed.
Now I ain’t no gangster, I only bounce to the beat,
I ain’t known out on road, but I still walk the street.
Where if you screw, man and man will jack you for tings dem,
Where people sporting Bluetooth even though nobody rings dem!
‘Cept their mum. ‘Cause the only ones with credit are the dodgey dealers,
Muggers, shoters, oh yeah and the mobile stealers.
Seems like any group of people younger than forty is a gang,
And anyone who walks street alone should now feel prang.
But you know some young people they just have a lot friends,
And nothing better to do all day than to hang around their ends.
Some mans wearing hoodies just wanna cover their head,
‘Cause their hair is bare neeky, since they just rolled outa bed.
Or they’re cold, or not bold you know, just a bit shy,
If they cover up they’re face then you can’t catch their eye.
The way they dress doesn’t prove that they actually mean to harm you,
But I guess if you can’t see their eyes they didn’t set out to charm you.
Now we should all have a right to walk at any time of day,
Without the robbers or the coppers getting in our way,
In whatever clothes we like just so as long as they’re decent,
We don’t even have to wear Nike trainers in a style that is recent.
As retro is now in, like low slung jeans those fashion guru’s suggest,
Though, I still have to pull up my trousers or I just don’t feel dressed.
In fact I sometimes have been known to even where a belt,
Something young men could consider should they not want their collars felt.
By the long arm of the law that reads only the cover,
When they wanna stop and search criteria one is still ya colour.
But they’ll clock the garms as well, not fair jut how it is,
So check what yours are saying, beware mixed street-wear messages.
For while you and I may know the cost of TNs and new era,
Those blind to our urban style, see just a ghetto-label wearer.