I grew up in a council flat next door to the National Front.
It wasn't ‘til I was six years old, I realised they were racist cunts.
The more they read, and the more they believe
Just behind Page 3 in The Sun
I went down the Olympic Village,
But I still can't fucking outrun that shit like
Fam, it was South East London
Used to jam down East or West,
Come through North on the Edgware branch
But we never fit in those ends,
Never knocked for those friends ‘cause they never welcomed us in those places
Never needed to go down Kent
‘Cause Bermondsey was bloodclart racist
It was hard times, when the Windrush came up
Quicker than a raindrop, more like a flood
It was hard times, when our mums had to work two jobs, ever hustlin', getting in the grub
Yeah, it's hard times, Brixton race riots turned us lot inside out, try us
Hard times,
Still too many black faces in the prisons,
The shots and the silence.

We've seen it all before,
We'll see it all again
... and we'll say we're sorry.

Move.

I once heard a short account that
“When it rains, it floods,”
But it took at least two hundred years
To stop the rush of blood
But even now, they march the streets
They claim to keep the peace,
Fascists, protected by police
Will Stockwell Moments ever cease?
The firebombs keep coming
And they’ll keep coming still
Every time that news reporters claim
British blood was spilled
And like native, sovereign terrorists
We fight until we’re killed
But
Well, nothing’s well under the sun
And they told me, you’d better

Move.

There are obviously problems
When you’re so fuckin’ embattled
That making your way through life’s
A hassle
And even when the chains you rattle are slack,
You’re still shackled
With mind-forg’d manacles
The Daily Mail down palace walls,
Submissive - but with modern tools.
Shoot a nigger dead, copper
Proper easy mark
And then condemn the racial tension
When you lit the fucking spark
And like a man jumping a barrier
Means police can jump the shark,
Well
Nothing’s well under the sun

‘Cause when I got tings to say, I write bars
In five parts
And I lay it out on an album
I don’t waste time thanking my stars
I push past
Like Mandela and Malcolm
‘Cause if we don’t keep it up
Dem merciless
And I can predict the outcome
It’s either back to the steel pan drums
Or we shall overcome

Move