[Ral.]

Little lady, your mind you've made up,
Your injuries you can't hide with make-up,
You need some medical advice, you make up,
A little lie to say just,
In case the doc opens his eyes and don't decide to play dumb,
With any luck you'll see the same dude who stitched your top lip,
Last year when your pimp just lost it,
He wouldn't recognise you if you stared him in the face anyway,
'Cause all the heroin is making you age,
But your a heroine for taking the strain of being a prostitute and punching bag,
The funds you have left go where your from using Moneygram,
Mother had to get you out the motherland to study,
That was all she struggled to have a single daughter with the upper hand,
Little does she know your never coming back,
She put you in her brother's hand only for him to formulate another plan,
He's the fucking cause of your appalling state this summer,
Fancy that, you came to London to get pimped by your Uncle, damn.

She's just under the upper hand,
Goes mad for a couple grams,
And she don't wanna go outside, tonight.
'Cause in the pipe she'll fly to the motherland and,
Sell love to another man,
It's too cold outside, for angels to fly,
Now an angel will die, covered in white,
With closed eyes and hoping for a better life,
This time, we'll fade out tonight,
Straight down the line.