It's the same fucking night and this time I'm the one riling up for a fight for a fist to be flown into the prattling prince rinsing recycled secrets for all they're worth talking about how Lola slash Japan (he likes to speak in code like no one knows who he's on about on occasion about the Caucasian wench i never really liked who's turned dike like that's a surprise to anyone) wasn't woman enough to manage his girth. He's chatting about his cock, he likes to lie a lot if you couldn't guess and the shadows are long in this North London alley tonight all he's doing is breeding hate in my heart. I'm starting to fucking sympathise with that tart for what it's worth, I don't get how she put up with this whining upstart for so fucking long, what the fuck was wrong with her? I'd have Pearl Harboured him on the first fucking date and the prince is going on and on quoting Curtis's songs and linking them to his life and talking about self harming with a rusty knife and if i ever meet a girl i truly hate, i think I'll get her to be this fucker's wife.
I'm not even half way through my deck but the fucks have already turned to fecks from the Irish among us and every other fucking word seems to be a fucking cuss but whatever we move on, only we don't, we move nowhere and that's starting to scare me. We're moving nowhere, we're just staring out blankly and traversing stratospheres on the herbal express but never getting anywhere near to finding our feet or leaving our seat and I'm finding it hard to impress any of the girls that come into my court lately and finding it even harder to speak my own thoughts bately it's the blunt that's halting my pussy hunt but right now I'm blaming it on the cunt still cowing on about the girl long gone.
I must confess I'm starting to loathe him even more than dear old Jimmy the blunderboy who had twitter rant to me about the pleasures of his latest living sex toy. He feels all the need in the world to be coy it seems and plenty a need to brag about what I'm sure are only dreams and that old lesson I've learned about how only those who aren't getting go on about their shags rings a bell right now and out back in the black of a Tally Ho alley, the place where we like to go and love to linger the prince still rages in his rich boy rasp stinging from a swig of the whisky my eyes misty with a mix of boredom and booze and he's prattling on about how he gave her his fingers with an almighty skill but she was too numb to come and he's too dumb to see no one cares, we all switch off any time he shares.
And behind my expression I'm dreaming of a larier me who would give this prick the kick to the crotch that was so hard that I'd send his nuts through his guts and up into space. But I remember my place I remember the fact I'm meant to save but still this prick continues to spew lies about the guys he beat down at this rave last week but when i ask him where it was he fails to speak with a confidence that would make me think of him as anything but what he is and I swear his bullshitting is making my life so bleak I'm finding it a struggle to speak as of late. And it dawns around 1 as it always does that the feelings of hate I have will never trickle down to my fists never will my knuckles meet this smirking lips curling like he thinks the carpet he pulled over everyone's eyes isn't unfurling into the strands of stranded lies piling at his feet. Never, will my hook cause him to trip down the stairs even though no one here would care, even though his parents with a muted relief would weep with a faux pas grief as the coffin passes them by. It'd be such a weight off their shoulders I bet they'd even sigh, completely at peace for the first time in 18 years never will they be bored to tears by political preaching and misquoted teachings. No one would care if he died yet I have to uphold the lie because the consequences of my speaking the truth that's on my mind would have me branded vile, the people who agree with me behind closed doors would put me on trial so I have to keep this fucking smile firmly in place. If only I could but I can't this is all merely a rant to mute the prince's pathetic speech more a preach as a matter of fact but one with no point to it and now he's banging on Lola's sagging fucking rack but only briefly before going on to something new.
"I wouldn't mind that she fucked him, but he's fucking black"
"Can't stand those niggers man"
Another suburban racist what a fucking surprise although these words however foul do make a nice break from the lies. And out of boredom I look up to the skies that roll on in wisps of black. Fuck this I'm going back to the Tavern shack to forget myself among the brick-a-brack of the clientele anything beats the smell of bullshit. So I sit alone wishing I was stoned and order another pint and watch the night roll on till it's all fucking gone and prince is on the floor weeping as the bouncers chuck him out the door and on the street in the sunrise he'll wipe his eyes and pretend that he didn't just confess to the curb that Lola was in fact superb and that he wishes she was his again and how he'd take her back if he could but he can't so next time we all join him I imagine he'll have another rant identical to the one he's just had.
It's hard not to get mad, it's even harder to see that when people believe his story they actually get sad for him, I can't stand seeing stupid people being had and becoming another beam to prop the preacher prince's 'praise be to me' church steeple. His existence is just feeble and meek but there's no point in seeking an answer as to the why this guy is the way he is. He loves the drama he loves the attention so until the end of time he'll never forget to at the very least mention the story explaining why life's so unfair.
And it's all I can bear to stare on and pray that an approaching car strips the flesh from his moaning bones splattering him across the zebra zones of the tarmac street to stop him speaking.
And still the night slips away until it's all fucking gone and the birds are finally singing their morning song but the scene's still being ruined by the boy bitching about how he's been done wrong.
"He'll never stop singing this fucking song, will he?"
"I don't think so man"
Hopefully I won't be around to see. I'll be on my way into another slated day like the one outside the window today, only I won't come back to the Prince's cul-de-sac.
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