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Daniel "ASBO" - Urban, Grime, Rap, Alternative. Influenced by reality.
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #6,400
Peak in subgenre #540
Author
Words - Daniel Abo - Music - N/A
Rights
Daniel Abo
Uploaded
July 14, 2006
Track Files
MP3
MP3 4.3 MB • 128 kbps • 4:39
Lyrics
In a sense I'm innocent
In a sense I'm not
Innocence is innocent
With malcontent forgot
This innocence holds relevance
To the innocents we are
In a sense my innocence
Is an innocent too far
Some are born with one foot on the ladder, some have to make one through hard graft.
Some are born with silver-spoons, I make sure woodwork is my craft.
Day and night I draft a better plan to build a bridge to a better class;
Always searching for the field where the green is better grass.
I'm looked down on by the people I look down upon myself,
As they look down on me, I look up through a kind rose-tinted self.
With the self-belief I'm better, better off because I'm poor.
Selfishly I endure myself and I'm always wanting more.
Selfishness is a part of me, a part of me I hate.
The part of me I state is the innocence I create.
I'm guilty of being me, I choose the verdict, I'm my judge;
Guilty of being innocent, an innocence I begrudge.
Still searching in That Box for the youth I thought I was;
Still searching for the reasons, the answer to my cause.
I know I'm not any less a man because I was born with lesser wealth.
The lack of money and material will not affect my health,
But the selfishness I am will negate the innocence of my youth.
We can all say "life is hard" but only some know that as truth,
I'm not an uncouth man but I'll always "keep it real".
I was born an innocent but I'm as guilty as I feel.
In a sense I'm innocent
In a sense I'm not
Innocence is innocent
With malcontent forgot
This innocence holds relevance
To the innocents we are
In a sense my innocence
Is an innocent too far
Innocent-intelligence is hyphenated nonsense;
Hypothetical irrelevance, intelligence has no conscience.
The guilty above the wise in a world of the needy-greedy,
Out to make a fast buck and make it nice and speedy.
That's why I judge my actions based on the underfaction,
An equation I make is: Does the moral have satisfaction?
Unbalanced and slanted, granted I make bad choices,
The moral of the story is not to listen to the voices.
One angel, many devils, the innocence that's inside;
Blinded by the dark clouds and a council-estate pride.
Dragged through with a ghetto state of mind,
Lower than working class, I'll take what I can find.
This no give and just take has left my conscience scarred.
The Child in The Box, I protect, left in disregard.
I continue on my travels with my pen, some say sword.
Using my weapon of choice to hit nothing but a chord.
Ripping through the heart strings of ordinary people.
Destroying the ones I care for, none above me and none equal.
Innocent, I scream through a vacuum of hushed silence.
Guilty of the pain of self-inflicted violence.
In a sense I'm innocent
In a sense I'm not
Innocence is innocent
With malcontent forgot
This innocence holds relevance
To the innocents we are
In a sense my innocence
Is an innocent too far
