Paul Cree - London Calling lyrics

Some people see race Some people see cla** Some people see religion. Some people see all three And make a counterfeit informed decision about your upbringing. In order to package it into a box Gaffa taping the flaps And placing it onto a shelf With millions of other boxes Categorised and sub-categorised with the precession of German engineering. Some boxes don't fit their space. Some boxes need to find another place. Whether or not it's miscellaneous. Some say, Living is like a box. According to the box. Outside the M25 Believe it or not Life exists. Restricted to the drips from the city's residue. London's heat creates a condensation That provides a smoke screen That some call The suburban dream. I pricked that little bubble, Because there weren't enough holes in the commuter belt To keep me from being exposed. The fire in my belly Was on the verge of being extinguished. Ready to relinquish any creativity And submit to a well doctored dose Of docile normality. Revolving round the security of a reasonable salary Whatever is on the telly Holidays to Malaga And a small town mentality. I had to escape for my sanity. Make a break for the city Where hostility Forms the reception committee But hostility creates Or breaks An attitude that wants to set the pace, Wants to win the race Then keep on running. The fight for space keeps the fire in my belly burning. The competitive nature draws creators Innovators and paper chasers. Consumer and commuters wanting a piece of the pie. Opportunities arise To match the heights. Of iving in a high rise. In my eyes This is where I need to be. I don't know if it's where I belong But I'm here to figure that out. The heat keeps the flame from going out. When the fires out, I'm out. ready to call it quits. I've got nothing against my small town upbringing But for me my little box just didn't fit. The ability to exist and not be seen. The ability to find a scene within a scene that suits your means. The ability to be seen and leave a dream. The ability to get on a bus and see a scene, that back home you only see on a screen. The ability to witness poverty and wealth on the same street and measure the extremes. The ability to be in a city with a queen. The ability to become a fiend, regardless of means. The ability in London, to end every single sentence With yea, safe, bless, sweet, yagetme, still, scene And most people understanding what you mean. Do you know what I mean? Someone once told me That Holywood, An apparent city of dreams, Behind the scenes Can be a haven for drug addicts, prostitutes and abject poverty. For some, I understand London living can be a cruel lottery. You don't know when your numbers are up. For me Whatever my luck I know in this city I have a better chance Of finding a space for my box. Whether or not, It's cardboard city or Kensington. If not I might as well go back To my place of birth Close the flaps on my box And suffocate with gaffer tape Consumed with bitterness About how much I don't like the place And If I was given half a chance I could have been someone. Well enough of that I'm up in London now There's work to be done.