6 Million Stories

London Town, How much I rate you Number one spot they in a rush to fake you Never really know where she wants to take you Cold hearted bitch I love and hate you The city where the grind equates to Knife crime in spates, they bide time, draw their blinds and stay cool A hundred street cameras, that peep that madness the pressures nonstop we release in stanzas So many closed doors tho she's open minded These bright city lights got some folk so blinded There ain't doubt what the rain clouds are lined with High rise flats for the rich to hide in Safe way above our concrete plots the real peak Wonder what she'd have to say if her walls could speak Things you maybe couldn't perceive with skewed vision? 6 million stories to tell, who's listening London Town big city of dreams London Town big city of fiends Shit is staged think you livin a screenplay Seems everybody's feelin squeeze Everyone wishin the livin was cheap Same breath buckin bits blowing more than they keep (Breeze) blocks on ya feet tryna swim through the deep Shit, 3 day Stamina's considered a feat Everything we spend just benefits the man How These kids shift product, pen really is a plan b Ask yourself you really the man b? Hollerin’ at shotters more often than family People think privilege is a figure of speech But to eat they never had to shif’ a brick on the streets Never had to shif’ a bit to a fiend for nutrition Six million stories to tell it but who's listening Is london just property portfolios for tycoons on the rodeo The bull is bucking hard like its seconds from an overdose The rider isn’t overthrown, rider holds his form Rider’s had the structures on his side since he was born Big fish, little fish, fighting for a name Mistake the net they caught him for a pretty silver chain Til its dead fish, served on a bed of dead fame At a buffet for the bankers. More champagne. Meanwhile, eyes glistening Kids throwing acid in the faces of delivery men Anything to get a little somethin’ from the bigger man That’s more sinking sand Now he’s dangling from the hook, looks ripped to bits But he’s still spittin’ blood back up at the fisherman Eyes swivellin’, sayin’ “I’m not giving in” Six million stories to tell, but he’s sick of ‘em Everyman tryna get rich in a land Love the way twenty grand fits in me hand Raise a london with the sticks n the gangs When it comes to stories got six million --- 6 Million Stories - Foreign Beggars