| True Story. |
| When I was born I was bang on time, 1.25 in the morning |
| Doctor said that everything was fine |
| It all started with convulsions |
| I burst my eardrum when I was one |
| I had infections and my temperature was high |
| I was two when I got given some shoes |
| Werent my mums fault she was trying to protect me |
| But pretty soon them outfits would turn into a wardrobe |
| Cause no one wants a naked baby walking round the house |
| I was three when I took a piece of tracing paper and began to copy things from |
| off the T. V |
| I got cracked my head open, getting dizzy playing with my brother |
| In the back garden in the bungalow on Beven Road |
| When I was four I learnt the word more |
| More means more, more meant more misbehaving |
| More mischief and more cheeky |
| More messing about with more tantrums and more swear words |
| Five years old, I’m a saint playing with paint trying to make sense of this |
| world |
| Had my first crush on the girl next door |
| And stinging nettles, I should have put two and two together |
| At six, i’m told don’t swallow pips, eating weetabix and believing in magic |
| tricks |
| Church of England school taught us all about heaven |
| Hell they drummed it into us quicker than we turned seven |
| When I was eight, I was staying up late |
| Looking at the stars and waiting for sun break |
| When I was nine, I started getting out of line |
| Cause I discovered sugar was buzzing like all the time |
| When I was ten, I was spitting phlegm |
| Playing with my marbles, losing all my friends |
| Then I turned eleven, nothing really happened |
| Then I turned twelve, still nothing really happened |
| Got to thirteen and turned real pervy |
| Fancied my French teacher, thoughts got dirty |
| Fourteen I was being very, very naughty |
| Fifteen I was banging fit bean, bunning sick green |
| Sixteen got nicked, seventeen, eighteen done the same shit |
| Got my licence to drive and my first whip |
| Nineteen, got whipped by my first chick |
| Twenty came, real soon I was Twenty One |
| That’s a pretty special age for almost anyone |
| Everyone who’s been there know’s what it’s like |
| Old enough to do it all but still very young |
| Twenty two still following the one dream |
| Some growing pure green forward some green |
| Me and Pringle on the mic, Tang, Jonny K |
| Twenty three, Summer holiday the club scene |
| Twenty four that was mentioned on first beat |
| Linking up with above Devino every Sunday |
| Plug the mic in and record it on a mini disc |
| Twenty five made our very first mix tape |
| Twenty six, spitting raw getting booked abroad |
| Hooked up with Dubbledge lips to the floor |
| Quit my job started making music full time |
| Living long ting on dented they want more |
| Whats more I met Rocksta and Big Cobes |
| Twenty seven, Armageddon for your ear lobes |
| Twenty eight, man I thought that I was heavy weight |
| Man I had to switch up the rhyme come twenty nine |
| Counted down in weekends 'til your thirty |
| Thirty one, should be still young and perky |
| Thirty two, I might have a little midlife |
| Thirty three, I’ll probably grow my own percy |
| Thirty four, fuck it move outta London |
| Thirty five, somewhere out in the country |
| Thirty six, on some chicken and a goat shit |
| Growing my own vegetables |
| Thirty seven, fully self sustainable like no-ones going hungry |
| Thirty eight, nine, forty, still living naughty |
| Clean the rain water with osmosis |
| The toaster is hooked up to a generator with a magnet so it don’t need |
| electricity |
| Don’t believe him? He’s done a lot of reading |
| He’s fifty years old now his hairs all receding |
| And he’s got a lot of kick in him |
| He’s no spring chicken but he’s living off the grid and the feds ain’t nicking |
| him |
| And he’ll treat you like a sister or brother |
| Cause he knows that one good turn deserves another |
| He’s sixty years old and his ears are still growing |
| And he’s talking all sexy like Mr. Lover Lover |
| Word to your mother |
| Til an old bugger pushing seventy with no demons |
| No regrets, look he’s smiling |
| He remembers all them good times but he’s gotta go cause he’s got stuff to do |