Citrus...

The main business of Christmas,

Is keeping your kiddies their Interest,

So Santa always always wakes them up, with goodness,

and socks filled with chocolates,

and fruits filled with Citrus...

© 2021 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

Runnins....

Runnins, runnins, I'm always running,

My minds doing 100 but my body aint responding.

I go to the hospital, it's a weekly routine,

To find out if I get to keep my legs or my spleen,

Yesterday they sent me to the wrong place, but only 3 times,

If they just said the ward name, I'd have found it just fine.

I've been there so much, I know the place inside n out,

As I walk the corridors, even the porters give us a shout.

I'm lying on a bed, boxers rolled up for a scan.

A lovely Nepalese bird is jellying me up, and I'm feeling her hand.

She looks like my ex, and I haven't had a touch,

My hand is pressed tight by her thigh, as she scans up my crotch.

It's only a tease, but I've missed that touch so much,

I don't think I can do this lock-up no longer, without going corrupt.

On the bus home my blower, is blowing me up,

Punters, n runners, n blaggers are fucking my brain up.

I get off the bus n go into my local shop,

B4 I dip into my pocket n my wallet is scotch.

I try to chase the bus, but my legs r too bust-up,

So I ring up Stagecoach, praying to Zeus 4 pick-up.

Explain to the man, other end that my wallets, Bus no 3,

He promises to search, and 2 definitely call me.

My minds going crazy, old mans telling me cancel cards,

Hearts pumping too fast, my bonce is in parts.

I'm road racing my car, to clamp those notes off the dopes,

I gotta be quick or I'll be pulling up, sick, white n choke.

I'm always runnin and runnin, it never seems to end,

Some days when I put sweets in my gob, I pray for a quick end.

Runnins n runnins, been running since 16,

I got the map, the scars, and my streets are mean.

Then I get a blow my on car dash, unknown number scans up,

It's only Stagecoach, who starts convo “Good luck”.

I'm beaming like chud, but still got runnins to do,

Still I handbrake the car, speed off, brand new.

I get to the Bus station, n buzz on their front door,

Wondering outside what scrotes taken my score.

Man comes to the step and hands me my leather,

I pray to the Gods as I open that treasure.

No notes been taken, n all my cards are still there,

I got my cards n my wad, n for once someone’s been fair.

Still I got my runnins, and runnins, I got places to be,

Matey is waiting at One Stop, for quarter past three.

I'm back on the skids and the roads, as I'm toking CBD,

My minds half at rest, or at the least it can be.

I finish my runnins get home, phone straight off.

Take what I can, as I fall on the bed to raise leg up.

I wake up at 1am, get up to hack n code betting tips,

NAPS, Each Way runners, and hopefully an acca to get rich.

Then I dot out this ditty coz runnins define me,

It cannot be changed, it's life long runnins for me.

© 2021– All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

The Invitation....

In 2020, our country was given an invitation,

To stay together as one, continue living as one, as a liberty freedom loving nation,

But only a few ppl stayed back, huddled together at the train station,

Waving at full carriages trundling off, travelling to an unknown Chinese destination.

Still some of our people held tight, on to that special invitation.

They chose not to become, part of a true police state, a total surveillance nation.

Too many ppl disagreed, jailing themselves inside, praying for salvation.

More than a few wanted freedom, screw the USA, and bent Joe Biden.

The lobbyists and donors of course, had special back seat, White House invitations.

To witness a lying racist President, bowing down with glorified fake admiration.

He was only in the door a single day, b4 those men sent troops into other nations.

N “Liberals” cheered on, whilst CIA news anchors clapped, and started salivating.

However still some people kept on, wishing hard, holding on tight with their invitations.

But the smiling fat controllers had already imagined n designed great global inspirations.

Peoples bank balances got smaller, some sad few, enjoyed their emancipation,

Governments made sure small businesses suffered, whilst billionaires got full compensation.

A few specially selected, were welcomed with Internet invitations.

They laughed whilst it wasn't them, being de-ranked, with online damnation.

But then supposed Liberals, became free speech censors, with glee and twisted condemnation.

Until it was their time to get de-platformed, with powerful tech, censoring applications.

Only a few were left standing at the station, hoping wishfully with their invitations.

Disgusted by DAVOS, Bilderberg, and all those globalist creations.

Some went rioting, others refused their long term, untested vaccinations.

But many ppl allowed their freedoms to succumb, to permanent COVID regulations.

Myself I said sorry Gov, I don't want any police state, virus infected invitation.

And as for my subjugation, you better dose up my medications.

Coz my mind's splitting in half like cancer, as if bombed with radiation.

And I can't handle your changing logic, n all that Tory miss-communication.

So for the people that accepted, their Governments invitation.

They were told freedom would come, from a single vaccination.

Then it became mandatory masks, booster jabs, and yearly genetic alterations.

And don't forget it will never end, we have all those foreign born, evolving COVID mutations.

So for those of you that think, a magic solution, is in any Government invitation.

You're sorely mistaken, don't know real history, and in need of some proper education.

First they create a problem, and then they offer the people a solution.

Then they stand by to watch and profit, from a divided peoples, self annihilation.

The few that stayed back, threw away the rest of their invitations.

They were left in a bleak unsocial credit world, with no physical real, human relations.

Their only escape became, 3D holographic, fake techno creations.

But soon it became every non millionaires way, to take any kind of trip or holiday vacation.

So BoJo go screw yourself and our “special” Government invitations.

A year I've been imprisoned alone, state sanctioned under your regulations.

I spit on your safety laws, fines, and ordinance mandations.

Coz if the truth is “The Great Reset”, then it should be to REAL human mental elevation.

© 2021 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

Do The Largactil Shuffle....

It's close to midnight, and I see something in the dark,

It's my cell mate, he's having a noisy toilet fart.

I try to tell him nicely, to shut his loud asshole up,

Then he gets really angry, and we start to have a ruck.

Coz it's a Largactil, Largactil shuffle night,

A look into your empty eyes, and all they see is blight.

Coz you wobble to the left, and you dribble to the right,

Your walking like a sloth and your head just don't feel right.

But when the shit wears off I'm angry, and all I want to do is fight,

The guard's shields all go up, it's my turn to knock em down just right.

Bowling is a skill, but with screws, it's a powder keg,

Try to get 3 down in one, then grab tight on 2 a nearby leg,

If you're lucky n get a strike, they all plead n start to beg,

Promise 2 let you go free, as long as u let go of their peg.

But then the doctor comes in ur pad and he says its medication time,

I know what he means, but I don't need more time.

So they strap me to the bed and they, pull that plunger out,

A pin so long and thick, its contents make u wanna shout.

The lovely blue liquid in the barrel is shinning like a light,

Then they shove it in my ass cheek and pump the contents in nice n tight.

Then I'm drooling like a mong, and I got no mood to move,

And the guards who I rattled earlier, r laughing 2 the groove.

Coz this is Largactil, a Largactil shuffle night,

I'm walking like a mong, and I got no mood to fight.

I'm wobbling to the left, and dribbling on my top,

I got hunger pains, n want this liquid cosh to stop.

I try 2 eat some toast, but most falls on the floor,

And I think about it hard, and I don't wanna be here no more.

Coz a liquid cosh is plight, but it'll see u through the night,

Then u wake up like a mong, and suffer double sight.

I want to walk in a straight line, but my bodies got no fight,

N then I suddenly realise, that they used this cosh just right.

© 2021 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid