Letras
Police and thieves in the streets
Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition
Guns and ammunition
Late night roam the streets like a fox on the road
Sixteen experimental little heroin and coke
Room full of coke cans, syringes
Posted over the hole where po-po kicked the door off the hinges
Six kids all living in a flat
No jobs, no dough, every dealer on his back
Mum's on her own, drunk when she comes home
Days on end sleeps out and don't phone
Daddy don't exist, such a cliché these days
So he looks up to the G's, thieves
Whatever he makes, the G's take and call it a clean slate
'Til one day he said he had a job for him paid
And said all you had to do is wait
Outside one crib and told me when the bredda comes in
And who the bredda's with
And if the shit goes to plan you can earn a jib
That's what I call quick dough
But what he didn't know the G was a snitch
And the breddas in the crib were selling guns and cutting bricks
And he just phoned the G when the bredda rolled in
And told him he's with about five man and one chick
And next thing you know there's armed police at the crib
Sirens so loud he's trying to read the feds' lips
And what sounded like "Put your hands behind your head"
Was actually "Don't fucking move and we won't have to shoot"
Police and thieves in the streets
Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition
Police and thieves in the streets
Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition
Guns and ammunition
Guns and ammunition
Look, how many youths have got guns on 'em, bussing 'em
Eyes in the back of their head, can't see in front of 'em
'Nough of them, it's time to fuck with them
Yeah I've got ninety-nine problems and London's one of 'em
Youths are lost lives from Stratford to Moss Side
And all they care about if they've lost stripes
And I ain't no preacher MC
I'm feeling MCs but dig a little deeper like dynamite