When you look at us do we make you shiver?
Do we look like murderers all grouped together?
When you see us dressed in our best does that mean we are asking for it?
When you hear our cries are we doing it just for the hell of it?

Does seeing me make music bathed in profanity,
Imply that I'm coming for your family?
Trousers hanging, south London slang,
All of this must mean i'm in a gang...right?

My makeup is pristine
Lips shiny skin clean.
I must be begging for attention from older guys,
Bursting in desire for someone to be in between my thighs.
So when you hear my cries on the TV,
“He didn't show his face but I know he ***** me”,
We are most definitely faking all of what happened.

Those people in the ****** related crews,
Seeing them in the news isn't seeing us in the news,
Those are the few who wish and choose to do such a terrible crime.
We breathe through corrupted lungs,
Bathing in the judgmental stares,
just because a woman fell down those stairs while I was right behind her?
Your inquiries and suggestions only tie the loose noose tighter.

We are not the youth you think we are,
Hovering below societies scar on our reputation.
We would be ashamed to be you.

There was a man from Birtley,
when I met him he really hurt me,
He kicked me in the face,
and another mysterious place,
Now I have H.I.V.

There once was a man from Liverpool,
he once decided he needed a bigger tool,
so he went to the shop,
he was in a flop,
and accidently bought a new stool.

There was an man from Harrington,
Oh how he wanted to become a nun,
But he ate too much,
So he stopped being butch,
And wasn't allowed to be a nun all because he weighed a ton.