Skinnyman council estate of mind megaupload

First there was the Bury Crew. From the Bury Crew came the Mud Fam, who together with another crew the Highbury Hoodlumz started putting on nights all over town under the Mudlumz banner. Though the legend of him defeating Eminem in battle appears to be exaggerated, multiple witnesses will attest Skinnyman outclassed Em on stage after Em threw a strop at an early club date. Mudlumz nurtured a scene that flowered into something of an underground renaissance at the turn of the century both with artist from its core such as Skinnyman, the Mud Fam and Task Force and a whole range of others from Blak Twang to Estelle.

He gave me self-belief because I saw him put everything on the line. The label supplied champagne and a spacious conference room, fully equipped with sound system and a massive TV. Forget who got signed to whoever. I came out with the whole Council Estate of Mind album written as poems on the back of prison applications. Tim Westwood was rinsing his Straight Outta Jail dub and even mainstream Radio 1 were set to promote him — no small matter in the days before YouTube, Spotify or even 1Xtra arrived to compete for our attention.

And then everything started to fall apart. They were all out of a job. On the verge of turning thirty, Skinny was feeling like his opportunity had been missed. We know that we have been living our lives through the hardest times, Still we know that we must keep up the faith in our hearts and minds.

I live amongst smashed syringes, Squatters' doors hangin' off the hinges, Hookers lookin' money for Bobby, shottin' their minges. Leavin' used condoms out on the staircases, Next to the broken pipes that's left by the Base Heads. Local estate heads, have grown up to hate Feds, Kids with no helmets drivin' round on some bait peds.

Abandoned cars are at the bottom of the block, So when it's pissin' down, Kids have got a place to plot, To cotch and blaze pot, And watch this whole spot, Full up of lost souls with no goals who get left to rot.

And what, I don't expect you to ever comprehend is Why Wottal? Atkin's so self defensive. The neighbourhood shotters have all seen what it's comin' to. Local coppers on patrol are boppin' with a gun too. So anyone could bun you, Leave and desert you.

Skinnyman was on the verge of making a come back to the scene this year with his follow up album, which at one stage was due to be called Council Estate Of Grime. There was also some new sounds from UKHH legend Skinnyman following his release from prison earlier this year, as well as lively rustlings from A Yellow Man which I guess will have to hold us out until the new […].

UK lyricist Skinnyman jailed for 16 months News 25th July The poor lower working class. Blud, you got to sleep round here and have nightmares, Wake up and find the worst reality is right there.

The difference is, in my dream's I'm always runnin' scared, But in reality, on road, I'm comin' prepared. So now who's gonna wanna run up and become a gonner? Everybody's gonna wanna get us, but they're on a longers. I'm still out to get the same cats from last summer, But man can't see them again, It's like they've done a runner. I'm still in the same mannor, on the same number And everybody knows where I'm at and what I'm under, I'm in the same slums, raisin' the funds.

In the city where the yute man are blazin' the guns. Just look how this United Kingdom has come, Within the council estates where man'll fight over crumbs, We got young single parent mums, Havin' the hardest time tryn'a survive for their daughters and their sons Be comin' out their yutes, cause their yutes are left out there, Raised on the ways of these streets without care.

Now we're havin' our fair share of gun warefare And it's all gone nuts and that's just cause it's poor here. People want more here, We're all on the floor here, It's raw here, can't even sleep and ignore here, Cause life's kinda militant, Stuck in the grime, Nothin's equivillent to this council estate of mind.

We know that we have been living our lives through the hardest times, Still we know that we must keep up the faith in our hearts and minds. I live amongst smashed syringes, Squatters' doors hangin' off the hinges, Hookers lookin' money for Bobby, shottin' their minges.

Leavin' used condoms out on the staircases, Next to the broken pipes that's left by the Base Heads.