Oh, the guns of Brixton You can crush us You can bruise us But you'll have to answer to When they kick at your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head Or on the trigger of your gun Shot down on the pavement

Oh, the guns of Brixton You can crush us You can bruise us But you'll have to answer to When they kick out your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head Or on the trigger of your gun Shot down on the pavement

You don't have the answers but you're always blaming me. It only lies in your behalf in animosity. You decide it's up to you, make it what you'll be. After all you seem to be it makes no sense to me. Don't point your finger at me It's all your odyssey.