[Intro: Pub sounds in the background—glasses clinking, muffled chatter, maybe a cheeky “Oi, oi!”] (Lad 1: Oi, mate, you clocked that madness in the USA? Them Yanks are proper losing the plot—riots, conspiracies, the full fucking shambles. Lad 2: Yeah, bruv, it’s a total shitshow. What d’you expect from a place that reckons cheese in a can is food? They’re off their nut. Lad 1: Fair point, fam. But we ain’t exactly golden, are we? Our lot’s just as dodgy, just slicker at covering it with posh voices and tea bullshit. Lad 2: Too right. Over there, they’ll rob you blind and not even smile about it. Here, they’ll nick your soul and hand you a biscuit after. Lad 1: Exactly, blud. We need to watch out the same don’t happen in Britain—can’t let it turn into some divided, broke wasteland, all pointing fingers while the suits cash out. Lad 2: Bang on. I’m done with the whole lot—left, right, all them pricks. Time to make some noise, innit?) (Beat slams in, bass hits like a brick—song rips loose) [Verse 1] Yo, I’m free like a pigeon, shitting on the skyline, Flying over Britain, pure vibes, it’s my time, No politics, bruv, that shit’s a sewer drain, MPs all flops, limp pricks with no game. Voters? Thick cunts, brains full of mush, Old geezers scav on streets, fag ends in the dust, Polis stack cash, wallets fat like a whale, Whip round in Beemers, mansions up for sale. [Chorus] Middle finger high, that’s my politic, fam, Fuck your fake chat, I’m the voice of the damned, Westminster’s a cesspit, new Hitlers in the cut, I’d rather jerk off in your ballot than trust your gut. [Verse 2] London’s my manor, streets scream my name, Young and untamed, never bowing to shame, They’re on TV beefing, roadmen in suits, Power-tripping wankers, I’d shank ‘em with the truth. Cash by the thousands, they’re grubbing for the win, Pimples on their mug, I’m sick of their grin, Slogans fake as a slag’s moans in bed, I see power-lust oozing from their head. [Chorus] Middle finger high, that’s my politic, fam, Fuck your fake chat, I’m the voice of the damned, Westminster’s a cesspit, new Hitlers in the cut, I’d rather jerk off in your ballot than trust your gut. [Bridge] I’d vote, but you’d slit my throat for fun, Leave me skint, bleeding out, on the run, Raking in stacks to a strip-club beat, I’ll find the geezer who sparks hope in the street. Shove a rocket up my arse, light it with a spark, Blow this system to bits, leave ‘em lost in the dark, No faith in these pricks, I’m done with the farce, Sick of their lies, I’d rather fuck a shard of glass. [Verse 3] They’re parasites, mate, sucking life from the grind, I’d piss on their graves, leave ‘em rotting behind, Suits with no soul, just greed in their eyes, I’d ram a hot poker up their arse for the lies. From Brixton to Bow, the streets feel my rage, Unleash the beast, break free from the cage, My policy’s raw, no filter, no cap, Spit bars so hard, it’s a lyrical slap. [Chorus] Middle finger high, that’s my politic, fam..
