Текст песни Where Ya From ? - Plan B

Yo, where ya from?
I'm from a place where the streets are filled with snakes
Smile on their face as they plot to do you wrong
Where ya from?
I'm from a town where the man will take you down
'Til you make them pounds, flashing it around like you the don
Cause where I'm from
They don't give a fuck if you got talent, only got love for your bank balance
Like give me the one
That's where I'm from
Don't ever get it twisted, yeah I'm really really from the ends
Now what the fuck you want?

I'm walking down the street, past the coppers on the beat
Past the shotters blottin' weed, clear for everyone to see
But no-one gives a D, Cause this is everyday life
Fuck the police, it's a ghetto state of mind
Except where I'm livin' I can't see no ghetto
This ain't America, it's England, where we live ain't nothing special
You can take anywhere and call it a ghetto
Same way you make cyanide, same way you make amaretto
Hip-hop's on the street, now we all busting echo
50 Cent's on MTV now it's cool to carry metal objects
Now the object is to kill
How can you value life when you're so close to death
Stainless steel, how's it make you feel?
Blood, holding that bucky
Knowledge is power, guns just make you feel lucky
It's fuckery, the way these youth man like to go on
Bustin' shots in the crowd when there's a show on
They're just putting a show on
Some gangsters stay underground like Non-Fiction
They don't fire blanks at yanks like when Nas played at Brixton
Thrill seeking dickheads just doing it for kicks
Hear the next man speak his name from his lips
Give a guy props for licking shots from a gun
Like if they fired one at him the fucking prick wouldn't run
It's like they praising these youths for acting so dumb
And it's no excuse, most of us are father-less sons

Yo, where ya from?
I'm from a place where the streets are filled with snakes
Smile on their face as they plot to do you wrong
Where ya from?
I'm from a town where the man will take you down
'Til you make them pounds, flashing it around like you the don
Cause where I'm from
They don't give a fuck if you got talent, only got love for your bank balance
Like give me the one
That's where I'm from
Don't ever get it twisted, yeah I'm really really from the ends
Now what the fuck you want?

I'm walking down the street, past the coppers on the beat
Past the shotters blottin' weed, clear for everyone to see
But no-one gives a D, Cause this is everyday life
Fuck the police, it's a ghetto state of mind
Except where I'm livin' I can't see no ghetto
This ain't America, it's England, where we live ain't nothing special
You can take anywhere and call it a ghetto
Same way you make cyanide, same way you make amaretto
Hip-hop's on the street, now we all busting echo
50 Cent's on MTV now it's cool to carry metal objects
Now the object is to kill
How can you value life when you're so close to death
Stainless steel, how's it make you feel?
Blood, holding that bucky
Knowledge is power, guns just make you feel lucky
It's fuckery, the way these youth man like to go on
Bustin' shots in the crowd when there's a show on
They're just putting a show on
Some gangsters stay underground like Non-Fiction
They don't fire blanks at yanks like when Nas played at Brixton
Thrill seeking dickheads just doing it for kicks
Hear the next man speak his name from his lips
Give a guy props for licking shots from a gun
Like if they fired one at him the fucking prick wouldn't run
It's like they praising these youths for acting so dumb
And it's no excuse, most of us are father-less sons

Yo, where ya from? Are you really from the ends?
Well that depends on what the fuck you mean by ends?
If you south of the Thames then nah I ain't from them ends
I'm from these ends, they call it the east-end my friend
And around here you gotta watch your back cause everyone's bent
Bare man who think they rough just cause they're shot in the pen
Hating on Plan B cause they don't know me as Ben
Youths as young as ten walking around thinking they're men
They're under the influence, and I ain't even talking about drugs
I'm talking about why the fuck they walking like thugs?
They're in love with the idea of being a gangster
Romantic idol-isms, producing hot jizzum like a wanker
What ever happened to good 'ol fashioned street fighting like blanca
Queensbury Rules mate, that's how I vent my anger
Vent my anger, knock out your teeth
If you bring me beef
Leave you looking like a chief