| David Wills - Profanity |
Poundland Fuck you, Fuck your management Fuck your customers Fuck your broken shit Your stupid rules Your faulty knives Your cheap thieves Your CCTV Your aisles of crap Your old fools Your hellish kids Your ignorant foreigners, Fuck you, Poundland! Ten months of my life Have been lost to you On tills and in your warehouse And stacking shelves Lifting boxes Cutting myself Breaking my foot Getting migraines Conning people Lowering myself Cheating myself Fucking myself over And getting shit From scumbag junkies And S. G., You fat bastard, You crooked wank, You cheap cunt, You condescending prick, You ignorant cretin, You 'friend of mine' You scummy shit! I want running water And heating And human rights And a decent wage And respect And laughter, Decent coffee The chance of a future, Some basic dignity, Or escape Or sick pay Or holidays Or breaks. Lions led by sheep, Ignorant senior sales And crooked fucks above, Bossed by junkies And swinish masses Ready to riot And steal And stab And shout And argue And fight And murder And rape And dump us in it, The shit they create Everyday up at dawn, Shattered and hungover And walk a half hour For no thanks And barely enough money to live And time passes agonisingly Until home, Too tired to sleep, Too sore to move, Too angry to talk, Too sick to write, So fucking sick of it all, But it's sleep and then back again, Everyday Because I have to pay bills And all that nonsense. |
| Copyright 2007 Red Pulp Underground |
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Red Pulp Underground
Reading Rooms Drunk and pilled at the Rooms: Midnight blues and jazz and more And cold seats outside 'til dawn, Smoking cigarettes and blunts Under the noses of uncaring doormen. Inside, a tiny bar sells bootleg booze At jacked-up prices But no one cares. No one cares – Cheap and easy drugs abound Inside in and inside out – Passed from hand to hand In darkness by doormen, bargirls And drunken revellers. Banter Goodfriend and Lady Banter Goodfriend Dance for hours and hours On blue and white happy-pills To whatever the kind DJ will play, Pulling shapes and inventing Free form Kungfusion snaps And jumps in an old chapel. Outside we all sit under the Moon and stars in clouds of purple smoke. Pink fluorescent braclets Glow bright and leave trails As they charge about the garden – Gifts from the Rooms to her patrons. Walls keep out the others – Police know to stay back – And the city is faraway. An empty fountain eats roaches, And tented benches keep burning embers dry, While the dancers rest and talk, Talk excitedly about dancing, Chins a-droppin' and eyes a-poppin' Until the butt burns and cold chills And inside we go again, Ready to throw shapes in the dark Until three o'clock and taxi-time, Back to Step Row for cider and banter And Pearl Jam and The Libertines, And sleeping on the couch 'til afternoon. |