It ain´t about tea and biscuits.
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I´m one of those English misfits.
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I don´t drink tea I drink spirits,
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and I talk a lot of slang in my lyrics.
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There goes a horse, horses for courses,
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nah more like corpses on corners,
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and Staffordshire Bull Terriers
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and late night crawlers.
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Police carry guns not truncheons,
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make your own assumptions.
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London ain´t all crumpets and trumpers,
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it´s one big slum pit.
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[Chorus:]
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We ain´t all posh like the queen,
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we ain´t all squeaky clean,
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Now do the Tony Blair,
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throw your hands int the air now everywhere,
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We ain´t all squeaky clean,
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we ain´t all posh like the queen,
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Now do the Tony Blair,
|
throw your hands in the air now everywhere,
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This is the picture I painted my low down,
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this my London that I call my home town,
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It´s where I´m living and this is my low down,
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This is my England I´m letting you know now!
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No I don´t watch the Antiques Roadshow,
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I´d rather listen to Run the Road.
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And smoke someone´s fresh homegrown,
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And not get bloated on a plate of scones,
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Cricket, bowls, croquet, nah PS2 all the way,
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in an English coucil apartment,
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We don´t all wear bowler hats and hire servants.
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More like 24 hour surveillance
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and dog sh*t on the pavements
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
Big up Oliver Twist,
|
letting us know the nitty gritty of what London really is,
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It ain´t all pretty, deal with the realness,
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it´s all gritty, deal with the realness.
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Ohh the changing of the Queen´s guard,
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that´s nothing for me to come out of the house for,
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Tra la la, I´d rather sit on my arse,
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And have a glass of Chardonnay, nah,
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We ain´t all Bridget Jones clones, who say pardon me
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More like gwanin mate. You get me...
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|
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-----------------
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My England
|
| Lady Sovereign |
