Two-Tier Blues 2

Lyrics

​INTRO
​(Saxophone solo swells, 808 bass starts to slide)
Yeah.
Look.
Rain tapping on the window of the estate.
Phone screen glowing, everybody irate.
Listen.
​VERSE 1
​Rhodes piano looping while the bassline glides,
Out here in the smoke where the matrix hides.
Step out of the block, collar up from the freeze,
Everybody’s broke, trying to count up their P’s.
TfL delayed, man are stuck on the line,
While the high-street’s dying and the investors align.
I’m seeing gentrified coffee shops next to the soup kitchen,
Politicians on the television finger-pointing, witch-hunting.
​They monetize the panic, yeah, they feed on the dread,
Put a price tag on the memory of who just bled.
You check your blood pressure when you look at the news,
They’re turning local trauma into corporate revenues.
Five bags for a studio apartment in Bow,
No NHS dentist, man, the country is low—
But the timeline’s active, screaming "Who’s to blame?"
While some billionaire in tech is busy gamifying the pain.
​CHORUS
​Rain falling down on the concrete,
Skipping through the sirens on a one-way street.
They sell the rope, they sell the rage,
Another daily drama locked inside the digital cage.
Yeah, the city’s cold but the jazz plays sweet,
Drill slide bouncing to the pulse of the street.
They want us divided, keeping eyes on the screen,
While they run away with millions from the outrage machine.
​VERSE 2
​(Flow switches, gets sharper, faster drill cadence)
Look—
Two-tier talk on the timeline, facts get blurred,
Man don't care about the truth you heard from a bird.
They don’t check the census, they just want you triggered,
How to turn a street fight into six-figure figures.
From Hampshire to the Rio Grande, they bridge up the map,
Selling zinc coins to the locals caught in the trap.
"Foreign invaders!"—nah, look at the ledger,
It’s corporate efficiency maximizing the pressure.
​I see youth clubs closed, got no space for the mandem,
But they’ll build a digital gallows in tandem.
A fiver a month for a premium subscription,
To vote on the chaos and the cultural friction.
They memory-hole the stories that don't fit the brand,
If it don’t make a crypto-token pump, it get banned.
It’s the death of geography, the birth of the grift,
Man are dodging potholes while the paradigms shift.
​OUTRO
​(808 drums cut out, leaving just the jazz piano and slow hi-hats)
Yeah.
Just the drill-jazz lingering in the air.
They privatized the water, now they’re taxing the despair.
Put your phone in your pocket, akh.
Look at the person next to you.
Don't let the algorithm cook you.
London city.
Stay safe.
(Saxophone fades out into the sound of distant sirens and rain)