British Habit

British Habits Cold grey buildings are home to the millions,Of souls with simlilar stories to my own, The unoticed, vagabonds and poets, Battleling with potions and pills and different antedotes, And when the smoke takes over, My brown little lover, holds me in her arms through night, She’s so lovin, man she gives me something, Aint asking for nothing but silence and company, When our writings on the side of the walls, And I’m feeding from the bottom now And i aint got nothing at all, British habit is what its called, My arms bare all the holes, Of the rock and the dole, But none of the drugs puncture my souls, I can’t fight it, I can’barely hide it, Please your royal highness Dont leave me in the cold, Cos I never broke this nation, Yet accusation is, Is All i can expect from the knights, The Lords, Ladies, Baroness’s babies, All of them are crazy, So I aint got no chance,