"Some are from the streets, from crews like So Solid;
I'm from refugees, Eton is my college:
Posh but no dosh; yes, I guess that's ironic,
I don't fight with knives or mics, I write sonnets.
Many mates from school pursue familiar fates;
They're chasing millions, instead I'm craving William Blake -
So while these cats get fatter, I stay as thin as a rake
Wishing to show life as a poet's not a silly mistake
And still here I wait, using the tube, not a limousine,
Paycheque is small, not like that footballer Zinedine's,
Patience is low, ambitions high as the Pyrenees -
Lyrically I'm weak; I need to write more similies.
Seriously, those poor folk who don't know Benin City
Don't know what they're missing, so we look at them in pity,
Poetry spoken over beats like you've never heard it:
Passionate chat, drum, bass and sax; the mixture’s perfect."
www.myspace.com/wearebenincity
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