[Intro: Franklyn]
It’s the city that raised us up
But the city can break you down
And if you escape it’s luck
It’s gritty the place is foul
Yo, we live in this place, we’re stuck
It’s a pity our shades are brown
There’s plenty at stake
And many mistakes are made
As we chase the pounds
Employers dismiss us, they’re racist
Got lawyers for different cases
They shift us, we sit in their stations
It’s literally trials and tribulations
There’s vials that litter the pavements

[Verse One: Franklyn]
Let me tell you Who Franklyn Is
Franklyn is a misanthropist
Don’t back the things that these actors spit
Telling massive fibs trying to gas the kids
Them man are tryna be bachelors
Me I’m 2Pac, with a bachelors
It’s facts I spit, on the tracks I rip
I guess you can call me a rap activist
No I don’t need a celeb to hype me
I went studio and left a crime scene
And if a brudda try send to spite me
It’s a must that I lyrically end a life, b
East London, hence it’s grimy
Trend aside, see
I’m a product of Ghetts and Wiley
The best I might be
And that goes through my head on drives
To go and get my girlfriend from Whitleys
The whole scene’s been saying you’re hard
But I laugh, ‘cos it’s less than likely
Cos you got little white girls all spraying your bars
But I’d rather the ends recite me
Cos even though I’m a father of flows
I read this prose for my dargs on the road
Getting illegal dough as they barter with coke
The streets are cold and it’s hardly a joke
You can ha-ha, you can laugh I suppose
But it’s dark hearts on the paths that we chose
I mean - I was in my yard, not involved
But that ain’t the case for half of my bros
Anyways
No fear in our hearts cos we’re bold
Cuz, who cares for the pastor or pope?
Half of us don’t
Yeah we go hard for the code
Get clapped, you can be the largest of blokes
Like “why would I work 9-8 on a Wednesday?
He was selling high-grade when the feds came
We just raise crime rates on our estates
We’re irate on our best days
So I ain’t got time to rest mate
When my friends stay confined in these enclaves
We’re the next slaves and we’re dying for end gains
Tryna get cake, not trying to maintain
I’ve seen too many youngers die too early
Maybe we should write our wills
All of the murderous hype isn’t worth our lives
So I tell a man “pipe down chill”
Like, right now, still
I describe turbulent times in my rhymes
What I write down’s real
I’m a young prodigy, live my life quarantined
Everything I write down’s ill
Everyone’s tryna get the funds up
At least till the cops come
But I ain’t even rapping for a lump sum
Or tryna get a grammy like my mum’s mum
It’s deep than music
Not about me, it’s a movement
I’m leaving a blueprint
Cos I wanna see the solutions
And that’s the reason I do this
Cool