Grey derelict buildings
Hooded kids riding bikes,
Hanging on the corner
As the oap’s sitting by their window,
In a home that seems a prison now,
In which they never get out.
The street light flickers as night sets in
The cars race round the streets,
Chased by police it’s all a game
Knowing they will get off with a warning.
Litter, mattresses and old sofas
Fly tipped along the road,
Is it any wonder when people call this home,
They grow up dysfunctional
And know that they are poor,
You do not have to be gifted or highly educatated at all.
They get substandard services,
They get substandard schools,
As if they have not intelligence
The state treats them as fools.
These wanna be gangsters then decide to steal from the rich,
To give themselves a foot up in life
And you get angry because you think that’s the wrong
But they don’t care and not even try to understand,
For wealth is there at their finger tips
If they rob and steal from you,
And has more dignity than living out of skips,
Because there is no respect in poverty,
Or growing up in slums,
So don’t go getting it twisted
For nothing about this life is fun.