Verse 1 - [Farma G]
My end's like a version on the world and its people who struggle to survive in the grip of the evil.
Driving or riding you might feel safe but come take a walk in Highbury Estate.
You might get draped or thrown to the curb by a gang of tear-aways all high on the herb.
No difference from all of the estates around the world.
But this is my shit hole and I'm proud of the boys and girl who have it hard 'cause we're all junkyard.
Where heads can't read but still shot weed and rinse them pounds to by that food, cause money from the social it just won't do.
And the cops drive past like we killed something and call for back up, cause they aint safe in the ends.
That's standard, beef on the street is nothin' new like fighting for the rights to coch with your crew like
"We grew up here, all twenty eight years, I'll stop where I want and watch all the cunts on the rich side of road so they know how it goes"
But Hihgbury Estate where no cash flows, sirens singing a song of jailhouses, summertime madness and kids well 'bout it.
Peds with no helmets and BMX bandits, dash round the block top speed and no handed.
I shout the estates out, I love the estate life.
I speak Junkyard in all of my writing, so go play my shit outside number ten and let the world know about life in the ends.

Chorus - [Chester P]
Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.
Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.

Verse 2 - [Chester P]
Late night, summertime heat got me drippin', sticky air got me doing snowmen renditions.
Meltdown, sippin on an ice cold Peroni, sittin on the corner where the time flies slowly.
Young kids getting their kicks out of mopeds, doing tricks to impress all the old heads.
Police come but they never get love in the ends.
I'm sittin on this fence with a Rizla full of dutch and a pocket full of money,
Buzzing like a bee around the midnight honey.
Suckle on the peng here, trouble out-of-towners, spittin on the grass where the youngsters surround us.
Junkyard atmosphere is tense like a hijack, last call, running to the shops for a night-cap.
On the ends where we fight for a title, what you call crime, we call survival.
Thugs circle, kids who wanna un-earth you, many rivals, police wanna stop and search you.
Just a normal night underneath the summer stars, in the Junkyard shook ones are running past.
Little gangs aged six up to twenty one, it aint a size thing, these kids'll rob anyone.
In the slums of this old main drag and the slums worldwide that are twice as bad.

Chorus - [Chester P]
Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.
Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.

Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.
Where the kids smoke pengs and rob grown men and sell them bags to get them spends,
The pigs come around but they never find friends in the ends.


Lyrics submitted by sphynx01

The Ends song meanings
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