The barking of the dogs, the screeching of the cats,
The tall erect prisons known as high rise flats,
In the up turned bins the vermin they move strong,
In this sort of place the day it seems so long,
An ambulance will turn on it’s vacant cry,
A junkies OD’d in his endeavour to fly,
The broken glass is the end of the storm
And the only reason is the criminal’s form.
Society forgets that such places exist,
The street politics are settled by the strength of the fist,
There is no fear in the eyes of the people round here,
If you’ve never known hope then how can you know fear?
An old man lay dead for a week or maybe two,
But the odour forgotten so nobody knew,
A drunk lies unnoticed in his own pool of slime,
His only comfort it is the smell of urine,
The bricks start to fly as the gangs roam the night,
Bored in the slum that will fire the fight,
Those that are hurt will never complain,
As a mother lies crying and praying in vain.
Society forgets that such places exist,
The street politics are settled by the strength of the fist,
There is no fear in the eyes of the people round here,
If you’ve never known hope then how can you know fear?
So why don’t they leave and why don’t they go
You have to have lived here before you can know,
The do-gooders cry ‘King of the Slums’,
But there’s no where to go to when your thought of as scum,
So sit there and wait for your turn to go,
And when the earth hits the coffin, will anyone know.