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