[Intro] [Sound of a heavy cell door slamming - HMP Birmingham] [Deep, Distorted Bassline Kicks-in] [Syncopated Ragga Rhythm] [Ad-libs] "Yo! T.Y.S.O.N! Real Is Rare!" You zimme? Suno vibes in the B-18, Stand up! Large up the Windrush seed! "Brrr-at!" "Let it Go!" [Verse 1] Welcome to the B-18, where the sky stays grey, Between the morgue and the cage where the lifers stay. Hospital on the left, All Saints on the right, Either lose your mind or lose your life in the night. Postcode wars, man, the map’s all red, Don’t get caught in the B19 or you’re dead. Handsworth Songs playing loud on the block, While the STP is out, tryna run on the flock. They see the melonin, they see the gold tooth, Police brutality, no justice for the youth. Remember ’85? The ashes still fresh, Systemic pressure putting holes in the flesh. [Ad-libs] Trust! Pure mazza! Cant Tech it! "We Wicked and wild!" [Hook] [The Bitter Creek Anthem] Out in the streets, they call it Bitter Creek! From Greens Tops to Lozells Bottoms, the sirens speak! Cape Hill, Ladywood, True survivalists, Hockley to Spring Hill, we raise up our fists! Edgbaston ballers to the B18 slums, We’re the Windrush children, we beat on the drums! Informers, Nonce's & Gossips catch clips, welcome to Greens... The maddest postcodes, that you’ve ever seen! [Ad-libs] Ruff! Bitter Creek worldwide! You get me... [Vocal Snap] [Verse 2] Grandad came on the boat with a suit and a dream, Now his grandson’s dodging sirens and the infrared beam. "No Irish, No Blacks," that was written on the door, Now it’s Section 60s and blood on the floor. Step out of Winson, pass the prison wall, Where the shadows of the gallows make a young man feel small. The morgue’s getting busy, the asylum is full, Life in the triangle, it’s a heavy-duty pull. We talk that road slang, that Brum-Town flavor, Living on the edge, looking for a savior. But the feds want a body, and the streets want a name, In the 90s era, it was more than a game. [Ad-libs] No cap! Long day! Peak! The pigs get flames. [Vocal Drop] [Bridge] [Beat strips back] [Haunting Bass] [Single Reggae Skank] [Pre-Chorus] From the Windrush dock to the B18 dock, We built this city but they keep us on lock. Birmingham’s heart, yeah, it beats in the slums, We survive the winter till the summer sun comes. [Ad-libs] Real Is Rare. Stay solid. [Scratching] "T.Y.S.O.N!" [Hook] [The Bitter Creek Anthem] Out in the streets, we call it Bitter Creek! From the Green to Lozells, the sirens they speak! Cape Hill, Ladywood, we survivalists, Hockley to Springfield, we raise up the fists! Edgbaston ballers to the B18 slums, We’re the Windrush children, we beat on the drums! The Morgue, Padded cell or gun shot, "Welcome to Greens!" The maddest postcodes that you’ve ever seen! [Outro] [Sound of a police helicopter overhead] Winson Green... Stays dangerous. Lozells, keep your head up. Ladywood, we see you. Hockley, Spring Hill... we’re still here. The Windrush generation never folded. [Scratching] "T.Y.S.O.N!" [Scratching] "Suno Music!" [srratching] "Real Is Rare!" [Fade out with a heavy Ragga dub echo] [Ad-libs] "Safe, Fam, We're Gone!" [END]
