Not quite.  
The day your father passed, it was a poor.  
But it's funk, there's all weather shit.  
Drugs, petty crime, never had a real job.  
Your coach had you like Olympic team material.  
You were smashing them halfway training
but you packed it in.  
Because my mum was mental,  
banging on about losing me,  
not after my dad.
Gotta choose
Spot a posh wanker like you,  
sitting up in your ivory towers,  
looking down on people like me.
You feel me?  
What the hell you doing here?  
Taking the piss?
Manners maketh man.  
Manners maketh man.  
Manners maketh man.  
Manners maketh man.