I don't want to rap and all that crap, it would be a farce, I'm middle class, I can't rhyme in a time and make it shine, I'm also too white - ok, that's not right, but you know what I mean, you see, I get in spin talking skin and class, i don't smoke grass, I cut it, on a Sunday, I don't word flow, I lawn mow, leaf blow, I'm not on the edge with my neatly trimmed hedge, more tweed than weed, more horticulture than gang culture, more Ellesmere than head-gear, you get the idea; I'm English so if you queue barge at large you can expect a stern bloody apology, from me, but in my head I'm hoping your tea goes cold and the only crumpet you find is old, and laced with mould, so don't expect a verse any worse than a soliloquy of ignominy or some Burroughs-inspired woes about my bro's and other family members of both genders, I would sooner understate than berate or undermine the fine wine that are women, no not "bitches", but women, even the ones that are thin or sin or whatever else gives you the right to insight a fight against those you call hoes that probably know more about prose than what goes through your brain when it's strained to write lines about wild times - sorry, got carried away there. I was where? Oh yeah, so, rap - no, not for me, you see, wouldn't catch me cussing or fussing about lewd feuds with fellow artists and making fists of blacklists the gists of which are mainly unsavoury. Well can't we all get along for a song. Drop the bong, there's more to life than right and wrong there's a thousand shades of indifferent. I implore you explore the outer reaches of ....meeergh. You may feel outside but spare a thought for the Middle class, there's no representation in the nation, no we're not poor but we're far from rich and we itch at the thought of raising our voice to demand a choice, not entitled to style or any worthwhile guile, we're gentile, easily forgettable and rejectable, like disenfranchised, un-unionised, flies.
I never finished it or put it to music but it was a giggle to write.