Tekstovi: Klashnekoff. My Life.

I pray to God to keep me sane;
Blaze the herb, ease the pain,
Take some time, breath again.
We need a change,
Instead of blottin' B again,
A circle of deceit again, circle of deceit.
Where man'll merk you off your feet,
Never to make it past 33,
Flip the triple 6 and you can see it's an emergency,
Hurting me internally
Burning me like 3rd degree murder
In paradise and all I've got is my Firma team.
Yeh, and these are deep days with inner city decay
Where you could get your feet raised on any given week day,
When we rave, we blaze,
Swimming in linen, and rhythms spinning no replay,
But we don't want no beef mate,
Spray up this pussyclaat place like CK
Yeh, blud it's E8, E5th ride or die duck of dive, still life fuck the 50.

[CHORUS:]
Yeh, cause this is my life, jankrow drive-bys high-rise estates
Doors with iron gates, brers with iron face
With eyes on them waste, with their eyes on the place.
Yeh, and this is our life, jankrow drive-bys high-rise estates
Doors with iron gates, brers with iron face
With eyes on them waste, with their eyes on your papes.

Yeh, but still we're on the paper chase,
Looking for the pagan's face.
Many thing I take in place,
Many nights I laid awake,
Knowing that danger waits with fate,
Outside my gate,
Brave friends with smiley face,
Man who sliver like slimey snakes,
Chat a bag of poop to my face but behind me hate,
Bhudda man it's time to make moves like a black Moses,
More than the eyes and case,
Till our people rise again
Yeh And this one's for my cold D's who roll deep,
Hold heat, roam street with no sleep
Yeh, shit is so deep,
Shit heads OD found dead up in Old Street.
Old folk so weak so broke,
So pissed, broke lift,
Kids cotch on top of stairs and smoke spliff, smoke 'til they're roasted.
Pull out the Dragon Star and toast to the ghosted, those we lost, closest.

[Chorus]

[Interlude]