Lines of Defence - Black Grass

I’ll fight like cops and robbers on violent streets

Or like Mods and Rockers on Brighton beach

To get to that next level that I’m tryna reach

I’ll climb to the peak

I’d rather die on my feet than live on my knees

To me that’s admitting defeat

So I march on this black grass military beat

The mission is deep

They say the flavour of victory is sweet

But the battle tastes bitter to me

Still I’m spitting 'till I triple the feat

'Cause young bloods say the blood money is better than a kick in the teeth

Gritting their teeth

Asking permission to leave

They go AWOL, MIA, living in peace

It’s the team

Alphabet category A

When the plan comes together never get in my way

Bragging about lead that they spray

Led them astray

But the league’s in training, I’m setting the pace

J-star run hard 'till I’m red in the face

Eyes on the finish line last leg of the race

With the weight of my rucksack heavy on my back

Heavy on the track and I’m ready to attack

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence

I move on the track like a soldier of fortune

You wanna prove you got balls I applaud you

But I warn you

Blood I’ll 'Desert Storm' you

When you die let the parasites swarm you

More than a few war wounds I assure you

Poltergeist psychologically haunt you

Life’s not a fair ground more like a borstal (cutthroat)

Draw broadswords in a boardroom

Hardcore like marine corps corporals

Frogman;

dagger, wet suit and a snorkel

And your corpse will look awful

Body washed up on a beach out in Cornwall

Twisted up like a corkscrew

Your family will need a preacher to talk to

But that’s life knee-deep in a street trench

Tryna make these ends meet by the week’s end

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence

Cut the bravado

Don’t interrupt the commando

Rap bandolero

Dan desperado

Straight out the comic strip

But I come equipped

You’ll get hit with a stick like the drummer’s kit

For spitting that dumb and dumber shit

I’m done with it

Run up in your crib bun it down for the fun of it

You’re not ready

I drop heavy like a ton of bricks

Gun down your entire camp with a couple hits

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence

Transmitting life from the trenches

Tramps sitting on the front-line benches

From my ends to your ends

These are the last lines of defence