What I do late at night. (AKA invent new subcultures and wax lyrical)

Tonight I uttered the phrase ‘middle class gangsta’ in a conversation and then was overcome with a feverish frenzy. Over the next three minutes I wrote around twenty poems on the subject. I sent them to my friend, who promptly wrote a chorus and responded with gratifying rejoinders at each new poem I messaged her.

I feel so alive, so ridiculously empassioned, so besotted with the wonder of the English language that I’m actually debating opening a Middle Class Gangsta blog and posting one poem a day. This shit is golden. (And some is just shit…but it’s midnight, I’m babysitting, and I’m very, very, very tired.)

——-

I’ll kill you with my hummus,
And my olives picked in Greece.
Everything’s organic, bitch
Your life is under lease.

——–

Do you want a fresh croissant?
I’ll hit you in the head.
Drink up that nice mint tea
Cause you’ll soon wake up dead

———

Now let’s make some nice craft animals
No, you shut up and listen.
We will use this felted wool
You’ll see what you’ve been missin’

———

Darling, share with Alfie
And give some to Fiona too
We all gonna pop some bullets
Then pop to the loo.

———-

Georgie knows all his colours
And all his numbers as well
Georgie likes to kick yo ass
He thinks its really swell

———–

I got glue guns, I got etsy,
I got crochet hooks and I got library books,
I got dirty looks, I got vicious slander
And I got maps to nice little brooks.

Walk down life’s path with me
Yes, towards the Steiner school
HAHA YOU LITTLE PUNK BITCH
you’re dead, I got you fooled.

————

Imma get you, ain’t nowhere to hide
I’ll look on amazon and order weapons real fast
While I wait for two day shipping
I’ll draw mandalas and sit on my ass.

———–

Sure, yeah I’ll fight you
Just givè me a minute
I need to pause this show
It’s a documentary, innit

———-

How do you say
‘I’ll fuck you up’
In mandarin and Latin?
Have you felt my new sheets they’re 100% satin.

———-

What you mean you don’t like
Baby led weanin’?
You’re so ignorant about healthiness
I think you need a beatin’

———-

I only wear barefoot shoes
Like all true gangstas do
The formation of my foot bones
Is admired by my crew.

———–

Oh you babywear your twins
Guess what, I totes do, too.
Baby’s in the back
And strapped on front’s my AK-42.

———-

Oh, mighty universe, thank you for the ease of communication that Facebook creates at midnight as I stretch my inner gangsta while sipping Organic tea, adult colouring book at my side. My hand knitted wrist warmers are superb at keeping me warm whilst allowing to me tippy tap on expensive electronic gadgets. The three minutes I spent performing an invisible rap YouTube video with my friend were worth at least a month’s supply of vegan raw food.

Seriously. Three minutes. Set your alarm and go. It will free you.

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