Basement - Bastille ft. F*U*G*Z, F.Stokes

Greyhound, Megabus, clothes in a plastic bag

From shelter to shelter, six kids with no dad

She left the city for a better life

Ran to a small town where the population was mostly white

Racial undertones, trying to get back home

With barely enough to keep shirts on my backbone

Now ain't this real life, numb to what pain feel like

Demons knocking like the sound of steel pipes

Same lady who gave birth never left my hometown

But she the reason I travelled the earth

Locked the door, my uncle's going through her purse

"Wake your brother up, they're giving free meals at church."

And I can't justify how my daddy could black your eye

Now my sister can't trust a guy

We never had much, but we had us

And my brother found home in a pair of handcuffs

How am I gonna get myself back home?

I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

The sound of bullets bounce as I write raps in the kitchen

Daddy in a cell trying to hold his ambition

Witness the transition from a boy to a martyr

Sell dope but go to school to be a barber

The ghetto's like a prison, you locked but you still living

Barely breathing up until if you're leaving

But home is where the hate is

And my cousin ain't thirty yet but she's got eight kids

Half look up to me, but the other half rarely fuck with me (Just another night)

'Cause apparently, they think I see myself as better (and we've had many of them)

I see my songs as simply therapy

Now let's go back to that whole Greyhound bus bit

Mama worked there for old white folks, wiping up shit (To the morning we're cast out)

Tryna save ships, now close your eyes and envision (But I know I'll land here again)

How she turned a bus ride, into a spaceship

How am I gonna get myself back home?

I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

Oh, how am I gonna get myself back home?

I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

My home is comprised of many elements

Grandaddy was a junkie and found home in a needle filled with daily medicine

Home is far less based on physicality

(The birds are mocking me)

But embracing the mentality that you can turn even the harshest conditions into an optimistic galaxy

(They call to be heard)

Come home, daddy, it's okay now

(The birds are mocking me)

All the tears are dried up, mama's in a better place now

No guns unless they're video games

(They curse my return)

But there's a darker side to sex, rock and roll, and cocaine

Come home

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—, how am I gonna get myself home?

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—

How am I gonna get—, how am I gonna get myself—, how am I gonna get myself home?

Oh, how am I gonna get myself back home?

I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

Oh, how am I gonna get myself back home?

I-I-I, I-I-I, I-I-I

From the basement to the ceiling

Going back home to replace this feeling

From the basement to the ceiling

Going back home to replace this feeling