Hollywood Rap

Push me to places
I ain’t seen before
I’ll paint on some faces
To look like your whore

But deep in my mind
There’s so little you see
I keep it locked tight
Holding onto what’s me

The terrible things
That we do in this world
Are only a symptom
We pass off – absurd

So I’ll do my worst
‘Til I’m hailed as the best
You’d think we were cursed
But we’re just like the rest

And I can breathe magic
Just give me the word
It smells rather tragic
But haven’t you heard

The twisting of sisters
And mothers and misters
Is brotherly love
With a burning that blisters

It’s time for my act
So get ready to listen
My mould has been cracked
I’m the last one to glisten

With genuine feeling
That’s cheap by the dozen
You’re welcome to healing
But no kissing your cousin

I’ll take you to heights
Just to jump off the top
And tell you of sights
‘Til you beg me to stop

There’s nothing to do here
And less I can build
But I’ll keep my mind clear
And my body filled

With poisonous substance
That’s hardly substantial
You’ve really no beef
The whole thing’s circumstantial

It doesn’t make sense
When I come from this background
But who cares for pence
When you’re far from the fair ground

The going was rough
I thought I was a goner
But nothing says tough
Like a second-hand Doner

I don’t mean to pry
But why are you still reading
When you could be flying
And fucking and speeding

Nobody cares
So what if I get careless
I’m doing my thing
And it’s none of their business

You just keep paying
The price of my ticket
It’s cheaper than praying
And you know you can stick it

Choreographic Activism

I polished the drilling
Of Ms Oriana Fox today
Who’s disgruntled, but willing
Teaching folks in her own way

She’s quite sane and more sorted
Now plus one and a bit
Feeling slightly less thwarted
By the usual shit

She’s booked: gig’s on next Saturday
Way oop North of Watford
Dance-protesting the cuts that say
All artists will get shafted

And by doing a take-off of
Maria Miller
With some showtunes and JayZ
In a wig as a Tiller

Girl is dancing in her vest
To raise awareness fast
That if these cuts are not arrested
Arts have breathed their last

I am not a poet

I’m not black, not gifted, not even young
Never carried a knife to school, nor a gun
Have yet to feature on the ten most wanted
In the hit parade, no mention, by the tabloids I’m untaunted

For the paparazzi never follow me
Don’t flash my scanties for the scallies snorting coke at a party
I can move quite freely round the city streets
Nobody cares about my politics, my weight or bad habits

So you see I don’t meet the entry criteria
Just don’t belong to this mass-hysteria
Nobody feels guilty for my persecution
And I can’t expect apologies or contributions

I never sniffed glue, huffed paint or tried to get high
When there were chores to do, I did them, when I earned I put some by
My youth was not exactly what you’d call misspent
I never caught religious fervour, I’m not trying to repent

My dad stayed home while my mum worked late
We survived without the help of the welfare state
I never got fondled by an errant priest
Not been arrested for possession, prostitution by police

So you won’t see my poems in the magazines
Nor my biopic on your TV screens
For my stable mind and my legal status
Have put me into some sort of poetic hiatus

I can scribble it all down, every golden word
But it is nothing but frustrating if I try to get them heard
For the world is only int’rested in marketing a brand
And the labels all prefer to form their perfect, packaged band

Yeah, I write rap lyrics but I don’t perform them
So my street cred is a lie worn by some kid whose fans adore him
For the master wordsmith that can represent
Who gets his bling and ghetto styling from a Knightsbridge gent

Don’t try to kid yourself that I’m some kind of poet
I’m not down with any peeps, not cool, and don’t I bloody know it!
For nice, polite, well brought up, and hard working women
Can only write the life they know, and that won’t sell a single poem.