My baby was born in a bed
With white sheets, machines and heat
Travelled home in a car
To a three room nest, eats and sleeps
Laminate floor to crawl on, t.v.
Talks, starts to walk amongst love and security
Goes to school, learns to read an write
Probably follows a team with his friends
And gets to ride the train
Probably fall in love
Probably get to fly on a plane
Get to work all week and spend what he earns
On the high street
He's got doctors, nurses, fireman, churches
Kindergartens, wedding bells and jet black hurses
Passport, bank card, maybe his own yard
Locks and alarms, trinkets and charms
Maybe a baby in his arms.
My baby was born on his knee, one of poverty's offspring
Can into the world coughing, already full of mama's disease
Went back to a flat with no gas, no cash
Wrapped in a duvet full of cigarette ash
Mama can't get no sleep
Baby never quiet enough to eat
Goes to school, learns to steal and fight
Probably form a team with hs friends
Go steam those trains
Fall in love an never trust nobody again
Gets to work all week
standing in the high street for joe
Hustlin' blow
Hustlin' blow...
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