West London

West London post code, E Road my local/ Stone cold, blow ‘Dro on road, fuck Po-Po/ Ain’t nothing they can tell us in our zones bro/ ‘Cos from the paint on the pavements/ To estate railings we own road/ Fuck the Metropolitan police/ Fuck every single undercover and every officer on the beat/ Always watch me when I’m bopping on the street/ But the streets are our property/ So we tell the feds that THEY lack authority/ It’s not just me fam, my whole zones the same/ From Lisson Green to E Road/ We know the game/ Like we wrote it/ Street author, Poisonous Poet/ Go against the West and end up in the canal where the boats is/ I really ain’t trying to boast or promote this/ ‘But I spit reality, so it’s best that you know that this ain’t just show biz/ West London full of hood dwellers/ Middle-East mafia, White gangsters and Black Goodfellas/ Me, I’m Gully and Irani/ But I’m having talks with next man to expand to a Gully Army/ And I ain’t quitting ‘til the ends say/ Revs held it up for West, like the bridge under the Westway/ Chorus: Yeah, it’s just a West London street thing/ Yeah, it’s a Gully and Irani thing/ Yeah, these streets keep me breathing/ West London’s where I’m from/ And I’m not leaving ( x 2 ) Verse 2: So what’s the moral of the story/ Heard you sent bredders to bottle and bore me/ But I survived with nothing more than four scuffed knuckles and torn jeans/ Ready for war? You’re not ready for war G/ Trust me, Iprobably been through more Fuckery than you when I was Fourteen/ Certain bredders can;t hack it when there’s static on their radar/ Me I don’t panic, I just remain calm/ Keep my eyes open, I know exactly where the snakes are/ Keep my mind focused, I know exactly who the fakes are/ Certain man don’t know how deep it is/ And roll with no allegiances/ But I can smell the beef as if the meat was fresh/ I know exactly where I stand and exactly who my peoples is/ Airtight like shrink wrapped plastic, thats how we keep the shit/ Now peep the shit, your click lack leadership/ A bunch of pricks talking that click clack heater shit/ ‘Til they seen what them big bad heaters did/ Shit fam , you changed your feelings quick, recognize who you dealing with/ Gully army is something different/ We represent the third world living in Britain/ Not trying to fit in/ We Irani, Iraqi, Maghrebi, Messri and Lobnany/ Felestiny, Somali, Nigerian, Kurdistani/ Eritrean, Albani, Bengali and Pakistani/ I plot with a couple Cockneys and spar with a couple Yardies/ We bringing a hundred armed teens/ We bringing a Gully Army/