Оригинален текст
I sit here everyday, watchin you rush away
I write down what you wear
Words in prose of skirts and suits
In blues and greys, such bad taste
Your runnin when it rains,
Too late to catch the train
The work just has to wait
Most of you ive learned to recognize by sight
As you walk by
I write it down in rhymes about your busy lives
Invisible to you, a mirror of the edges of society
Rich in poverty
Im the outsider, the observer
The outcast, the word conserver
Im inspired by the streets
Some day it will be in my biograffiti
Im just recitin my street poetry
Might mean nothin much to you,
But its the whole world to me
Im just recitin my street poetry
Might mean nothin much to you,
But its the whole world to me
Nothin much to you,
But its the whole world to me
That guy has got a mortgage
And children, bet theyre gorgeous
But as i read his eyes i know hes unhappy
With his greedy wife and his daily life
Ive seen the grey masses, slaves to higher classes
Someday somewhere somehow
Someone will release my book of poetry
Or at least a piece
Im the outsider, the observer
The outcast, the word conserver
Im inspired by the streets
Some day it will be in my biograffiti
Im just recitin my street poetry
Might mean nothin much to you,
But its the whole world to me
Im just recitin my street poetry
Might mean nothin much to you,
But its the whole world t