There’s a drug dealer across the road and we live here on hell hill .
Her children are crying out for help and next door they’re fighting still.
I could hear them screaming again last night ,
something has to be said ,
What if it was your Mother that was being slapped around the head ,
I heard the voice of her children cry ,
"When’s Daddy coming home?"
Their daddies in jail and Mother has needs she can’t give up alone .
Every morning the drunks leave her house and hurl abuse as they leave .
There are more noises that I hear next door that also make me grieve .
I heard piggy bank’s and children getting smashed up against the wall .
No one has the right to do that so I gave the police a call .
The police are helpless to make an arrest without any proof .
With brothels and ghetto abuse it’s hard to uncover the truth .
It’s wild on the street and too many people have nothing to loose
Living on hell hill is a nightmare .
Its time now for us to move .

By Paul McCann