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This journey six years ago in a run down housin' estate
In bow East London, south east UK, was a man
Lets call young man, Ray
Frustrated wiv bein' around the way say, "I'm bored"

Until one day gathered up some
And in got turntables off Tony
Not only, they whack, they were wooden
But he took 'em 'cos it was a and it was a good'en

And he to himself, "Who wouldn't?"
Why not, then he took a little to DJ Targets squat
Stood the door and knocked
Asked what records you got?

Must be you wanna get shot, of, blot
buy beats, he ready to quit, gave him the whole lot
Then Ray had little click, were hot
Young gun soldiers but it all
Still it didn't Ray wanna give up the fight

Ray jus picked up the mic, would write, while excluded
No and glamor included
Like for money, dough, crime pays, didn't ya know?
Even Ray come across slow

Broke shit down, brung new flow
Made beats in the room
Teacher him a new spare time
Then they got a little bit o'radio

1:00 A.M. 3, be in school by 9
was clearly a positive sign
Learnin' beats, breaks and bars
chat about champagne and cars

More wiv you know, the grime
Made it a difficult to shine
Among these so called underground
Some resented him thus presentin' him with dumbness like retards

It didn't matter, Ray would say, "Okay, I'm gonna be a real one day"
Went through along the way
But he stood firm, on wiv the wordplay
Went through dramas the way

But he stoof firm, pressed on wiv the
Went dramas along the way
Let's take a look at Ray today, today,
Showtime, showtime