[Intro: Made in Britain]
Probation welfare office of visits four, five six, even seven times
Tries to help, discover the problem
A lot of time and expense and all because you don't want to go to school
[Verse 1]
Teachers who saw their education as a blessing
Come to school now all in a sort of depression
All of the kids in the class, they're all stressing
The teacher's just waiting for that first kid to test him
So school doesn't seem as if it's any kind of lesson
We're out on the streets tryna make our profession
The manor that we're from has turned like Spaghetti Westerns
With itchy fingers on the triggers ready for the pressing
And it's pure depression, I'm standing at the crossroads
Thinking 'bout all the other children of the lost souls
And how we only aim for goals that we can see
Another brother thought he saw his future shottin' B
He's 19 and he's caught with a half a ki
So now he ain't comin' home until he's 33
What a waste of a life
Just like a criss girl who I know who fuck man for a taste of pipe
No-one's ready to face up to these fights
But you find some mad shit on these council estates at night
So lock your shit down safe and tight
And stand firm like a soldier so you don't lose face, all right?
The police patrol these streets like beasts
Instead of chasing the thiefs they pull us up and give us beats
So we run these streets red, kids are holding their head
As they're driving around on their stolen peds
They're just dealing the cards that life has dealt them
Half of their crews are now locked down in Feltham
Screws and probation just can't seem to help them
The law has made sure that they've grown to resent them
Don't ask them now what is their life representing
To get through their day is their sole intention
And you can't tell them that they're wrong
'Cause they're all men-child who feel they know what's going on
They haven't got no time to enjoy just being young or having fun
They out there keeping it headstrong
They couldn't let Skinnyman come and advise them
They look at me as if my words was patronising
They can't think about no long-term plans
When they're just young boys trying to be some of the mans dem
They can't think about no long term plans
When they just young boys trying to be some of the mans them
[Outro: Made in Britain sample]
So there’s a summons
And you go for the very first time to court. Your debut!
First appearance
…but you foul up after the third or fourth day and back you go again
So… One, two, three, four, five…
…six breaks
Six chances to get yourself straight, get your arse back into school…
…and one, two, three, four, five…
…six times you’ve blown it
Now, am I not right?
Yeah
So you did a bit of thieving
First two or three times you get caught, you get taken down the nick…
…and some policeman tells you off, shouts at you
Next time you get a caution
This time a sergeant in full uniform shouts at you
But that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference because you’re apparently deaf to any kind of reason
You go on nicking and making a bloody nuisance of yourself…
But it’s burglary, shoplifting, TDA
Touching the dog’s arse…
…taking and driving away
And back you go to court
They’re getting to know you now…
…so you get fined, or sent to the local police attendance centre
The magistrates don’t know what to do with you
CHE, detention centre, borstal
Well, a pity about CHE, Community Home with Education…
…appealing both to your intellectual brilliance and your public spirit
What used to be called an approved school, a CHE
You could have been king of the Mafia!
Lots of lick-my-arse power trips around vicious 15-year-olds…
…and you’ve just turned 16! Bad luck
Not much left to bring you in line is there
Short, sharp shock at the local detention centre, or borstal!
Two simple lessons you’ll have to learn, DC or borstal
One: Discipline
Two: Respect for authority
You’re gonna have to learn it, so you might as well learn it now
This is an open invitation to you to cooperate, for your own good
DC
Seven out of ten coming out of detention centres…
… eight out of ten leaving borstals re-offend, commit crimes, that is, within two years
So, here you are, fresh out of borstal
No job
What do you do? Sign on. The dole
How much is that worth to you?
A place to live, food in your gut, a bit of fun? Nothing. It’s gone, broke
No job, no prospects, no cash
So what’s left?
And you’re on the bandwagon, boy. And you won’t get off
