NATZure - British Assa**in lyrics

Over oceans, civilisations behold The UK taking control A naval nation of old Built on a foundation of coal That was taken and sold So they could pave it with gold To make the altars that they failed to use to pray for the souls Who excavated and rolled Trains into stations to mould The global stage where they were playing a role For those who'd later withold Them from the tale that was told To fete the brave and the bold So they could claim it was stole Instead they lay in deprivation and cold Poor sanitation and mold Without a savior to follow It's not like they can enrol Rebel or make an a**ault HALT, enter Evie Frye and Jacob Revolt I am a British a**a**in Rather proficient in fashion Look in the mirror, yeah, the image is dashing I'm sending a Templar to hell On every single ring of Big Ben's Bell I am a British a**a**in Me and my sister are cashing in On the city's riches and it's flipping cracking I send a templar unto the grave For every soot stained cobble with which London is paved This is a major event So you best pay Jacob attention In in age of innovation, invention Evie and me are the train and the engine Slicing straight through the tension With a hidden blade to the tendon How clear can I state my intention? Fed up of Gentry living rent free While peasants pay an arm and a leg for entry Don't send for a detective Let me make this Elementary: I'm that a**a**in other chaps try and pretend to be My enemy's enemy's potentially a friend to me From Ezio and Edward Kenway through to Henry Green k**ing is our business and in business we're immensely keen Roughing up these gangs Although there's nothing in my hands But for a couple of bra** knuckles And a kukri that I swang' From the stricken slums of Southwark To the s**ers in the strand Suddenly snuck into a cab And then I'm just another chap Strutting, striding over Whitechapel Landing in Lambeth with ease Bite the Apple of Eden And plant the seeds in London's streets Come and reap the fruits of our labour And bite the hand that feeds We're the gang Anglia needs The Assa**in's Creed We study war to run like water through the ruddy order Tend to every Templar starting with that bugger bloody Nora I make her blighters face my blade and die Veins are sliced Baptised by the rain at night They wish they were safe and dry So crack open a case of wine Grab your gla** and raise it high Take your time to say goodbye Yours faithfully, Jacob Frye I am a British a**a**in Rather proficient in fashion Look in the mirror, yeah, the image is dashing I'm sending a Templar to hell On every single ring of Big Ben's Bell I am a British a**a**in Me and my sister are cashing in On the city's riches and it's flipping cracking I send a Templar unto the grave For every soot stained cobble with which London is paved (There's little more gory a thing than Living in Victorian England)