6 Million Stories

London Town, How much I rate you
Number one spot they in a rush to fake you
Never really know where she wants to take you
Cold hearted bitch I love and hate you
The city where the grind equates to
Knife crime in spates, they bide time, draw their blinds and stay cool
A hundred street cameras, that peep that madness
the pressures nonstop we release in stanzas
So many closed doors tho she's open minded
These bright city lights got some folk so blinded
There ain't doubt what the rain clouds are lined with
High rise flats for the rich to hide in
Safe way above our concrete plots the real peak
Wonder what she'd have to say if her walls could speak
Things you maybe couldn't perceive with skewed vision?
6 million stories to tell, who's listening

London Town big city of dreams
London Town big city of fiends
Shit is staged think you livin a screenplay
Seems everybody's feelin squeeze
Everyone wishin the livin was cheap
Same breath buckin bits blowing more than they keep
(Breeze) blocks on ya feet tryna swim through the deep
Shit, 3 day Stamina's considered a feat
Everything we spend just benefits the man
How These kids shift product, pen really is a plan b
Ask yourself you really the man b?
Hollerin’ at shotters more often than family
People think privilege is a figure of speech
But to eat they never had to shif’ a brick on the streets
Never had to shif’ a bit to a fiend for nutrition
Six million stories to tell it but who's listening

Is london just property portfolios for tycoons on the rodeo
The bull is bucking hard like its seconds from an overdose
The rider isn’t overthrown, rider holds his form
Rider’s had the structures on his side since he was born
Big fish, little fish, fighting for a name
Mistake the net they caught him for a pretty silver chain
Til its dead fish, served on a bed of dead fame
At a buffet for the bankers. More champagne.
Meanwhile, eyes glistening
Kids throwing acid in the faces of delivery men
Anything to get a little somethin’ from the bigger man
That’s more sinking sand
Now he’s dangling from the hook, looks ripped to bits
But he’s still spittin’ blood back up at the fisherman
Eyes swivellin’, sayin’ “I’m not giving in”
Six million stories to tell, but he’s sick of ‘em

Everyman tryna get rich in a land
Love the way twenty grand fits in me hand
Raise a london with the sticks n the gangs
When it comes to stories got six million