real life, it's easy to write about real memories NSFW

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real life, it's easy to write about real memories

Growing up surrounded by dickheads & broken dreams

Council estate mentality and memories

This is the music of my generation

Muppets, slags, drugs, broken dreams, violence, money owed, money due, struggling, no way out, scared, sacrifices, cant afford to eat, pyjama party at the local cash point, vandels, different lives different sins

It dont matter where we come from, it matters where we end up that counts

smashed glass

broken dreams

gardens full of rubbish

borded up houses

trainers on telephone lines

nutty alcoholic neighbour

drug dens

Man, we had it all

We moved so much I thought my mum was running away from the rent man

kids with snotty noses

It don't matter where we began, it’s the journey that defines our end,

Smashed glass and shattered dreams,

Gardens overgrown with discarded schemes,

Boarded windows, the silence screams,

Trainers hanging on the lines,

Next door's got battles, lost in the times.

Man, we held it all,

I grew up where life wasn’t fair,

Manchester streets, the roughest air.

Moved around so much, thought we were on the run,

Chasing shadows and dealing with the sun.

Kids with runny noses, laughter in the air,

Playing on the green without a single care.

Neighbors knew our names, kept a watchful eye,

Safe under their gaze, we could laugh and fly.

No WiFi, just Pro Evo and good mates close by,

Hours of shouts, laughter, and goals that make you high.

Those were the days, so full of light,

Even trials and tears couldn’t dim our fight.

Some of our lives, woven with threads of dreams,

But even broken pieces can burst at the seams.

Never give up, let your story unfold,

Through the rough and the tough, let your heart be bold.

That’s what the good old days were all about ©