Brixton Briefcase

I have my Brixton briefcase, from across the pond
London’s burning, but the beat the goes on
Feel my power, the electric life
Real rudeboys, own the town tonight
And we don’t need no fighting
All these beautiful birds around
The liquor touch like lightning
As soon as the sun goes down
Turn it on
Oh, turn it on
Turn it on
Oh, turn it on
I got a Brixton briefcase, Ministry of Sound
The walls between us, it’ll tear them down
It’s a Brixton briefcase, is that such a sin?
Blokes get spat on, they get a Chelsea grin
Whoa, do you dance to the chorus?
Smile and sing along
Shake your arse for me, mamma
They’re playing your favourite song
Turn it on
Oh, turn it on
Turn it on
Oh, turn it on
Worn off records, nothing soft
Turn it up louder, tell Old Bill «fuck off»
To all my family, and all my friends
Have to ride that train, on their way to the ends
Oh, aren’t you a nosy little neighbour?
Pretending to be posh
Burning the music won’t save us
Only a wine-coloured citric wash
Get on
Get it on, get on
Get it on
Turn it on
I got a Brixton briefcase
Feel my power
I got a Brixton briefcase
Feel my power