Flat, flat,
I'm stuck in my pad,
How long,
Many days I've had.
Rot, rot,
Left to rot,
Bored of the stream,
TVs ear claptrot,
Toke, toke,
Just one toke,
Licking that pipe,
It's an expensive joke.
Dad, Dad,
Tell your Dad,
He don't even care,
How many licks I've had.
Bed, bed,
I'm tied to this bed,
Got nowhere to go,
I'll dissolve in this bed.
Sore, sore,
I'm really sore,
Just rolling to pain,
So can't write any more.
© 2023 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid
I got cold sweats, in full sets, but feel too hot to feel wet,
These duff pegs, are half dead, but they still keep me rolling around in bed.
My pain is immense, but every doctor’s 2 cents, seems too dense,
So I’ve got to decide, no offence, which way to fall off, this spiked fence.
I have dead teary eyes, coz I know there’ll be no happy goodbyes,
That dark fear I feel inside, was only meant for the wise.
Coz my bodies a true mess, n I've got a head bulging full of stress,
As an old teacher, once said in jest, I can only attempt, to do my worst best.
Coz I’m really at rock bottom, and every future’s been truly forgotten,
To be an EastEnders' Nick Cotton, my brains had to get half rotten.
It’s a death spiral snake’s hiss, n a chicken bone cracked wish,
A hopeful one-way ticket 2 everlasting bliss, I'll def not risk a goodbye kiss.
So many pills are taken full hand, so I wobble n slobber, here as I stand,
I definitely don’t feel like a man, coz death rattles always harder than planned.
Whisky washed back, full gack n I got more scalpels, full pack,
I plunge demon juice into my thigh's crack, n within a minute my head lies flat back.
So I slit my wrist’s cord, with a scalpel like a sword, n say a prayer 2 any listening Lord,
For all I have aboard, by law, is a single coin on my tongue to pass Styx's river, by Greek accord.
Coz this bed is my sled, and deaths rider Charon is led, pls driver take me down, full brown bread,
My eyes swirl in my head, rolling n red, n I look forward to the afterlife, pray kind dead.
But like every time, the coin’s not payment enuff, n the riverman pulls up my body, full bluff,
I’m yanked up to my bed, from Styx’s rivers guff, n wake up panting, feeling real head ruff.
For is this my life’s long fate, to never get past, or pay the toll, to enter the underworld’s last gate,
I’m full 365, dulling my soul’s ache, I cry n quake, as sit here now, smoking "bake n shake".
For if I cannot end my time, on life's painful line, I must punish u all, with tales of my life’s crime,
So let hell’s bells, chingy, chime chime, as I once again, deliver this forlorn rhyme.
And I just hope, proper no joke, that one day, I’ll finally choke n fully croak,
I hope 2 B found lying on my bed, blood soaked but with not a riverman's coin, stuck in my throat.
© 2022 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid
Money, money, money,
Money, money, money,
I never, ever ever, got nuff money,
Always needing more, more n more money,
N I when I need it most, I can't get no money.
What do you do you do, when u got no money?
You get in debt, ur friends get funny.
I want some tasty food, n I wanna a full belly,
But I need those tings, dat cost more money.
I need more money, who cares if the weathers sunny,
My mind is fixed, on getting dat money.
I need those meds, that cost so much money,
N I'd like to drink that juice, dat cost much money.
I used 2 drink dat strong cider, that cost little money,
Still wallet got blank, n my tummy got scummy.
I need dem good pills, but the doctor won't fund me,
So I have to beg, pls Sir, spend some cash on me.
Parents think I'm scum, coz I always ask 4 money,
But to wake up not feeling sick, costs lots of money.
So those things ur told 2 buy, that cost chunks of money,
I wish I could scrub, coz I got no money.
But I jus can't stop, coz my nose is very runny,
And this world is made of debt, n debt is real money,
Food costs money, n tools cost money.
We could all share tings, but ppl think that's funny,
Look at me n stare, as if I'm a Red Commie,
Try n explain, that we don't need fiat currency,
The Gov won't allow it, coz they want r debt money,
And Bank of England, jus prints funny money.
Crypto currency, n decentralised money,
If I cud hack ur computer, I cud mine more money.
Tories are scum, n Labour aint honey,
No party rep me, they all want more money.
Income tax was supposed 2 b, 4 one war only,
But then it stuck around, coz Gov's blag was phoney.
VAT tax, and inheritance money,
It all goes to the top, n they love taking r money.
I want to stick around, but every day costs more money,
N if I want to live, I need much more money.
So what do I do if I can't get more money?
I go n rob n bank, 2 steal back my own money.
Then I'm put away, coz stealing aint funny,
Is a noose round my neck, da only way 2 pay back money?
© 2021 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid
Inspired by poem by Benjamin Zephaniah - "Money"
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
Do you believe the countries gone insane?
Fruit drink bugs gonna eat your brain,
Please someone come feel my pain,
Coz I'm alone, stone broke and afraid.
So many unnecessary people dying,
And big men are heart broke, dropped crying.
Dickhead selfish off panic buying,
An all police want to do is fuckin cite me.
Because my health is a fucking shit show,
On more meds than ten Grannies I know.
Blood eeks from the leaks, legs on show,
An bubbles pop from the snot on nose blows.
It's a sweat tank, drip drop, sorry state to be,
And Gandalf's beards half grown face on me.
Grey whiskers and no razors I can see,
Sofa dove already, one two twenty pee.
All tin cans, been scanned, and bin bagged,
Rotten fruit but it's the best meal I've had.
Got no idea if I'll ever see my Mum and Dad,
When I go out, scarf wrapped face, tight clad.
Coz this Town is a fucking shit show,
And my mental health is nagging bad, full blown.
My inner brains having a decent chat show,
And I'm socially isolated, nowhere to go.
Coz I can't even make some decent Ps,
Nags aint running, bookies closed on high street.
I need some soft paper to wipe my underneath,
But got no petrol to fly off to the heath.
Coz it seems like this worlds in martial law,
It's a sign many have seen years before.
I'd be surprised if they relaxed all new laws,
Get used to sweating hot all summer indoor.
I swear I got bugs sucking thoughts from my brain,
Not a days passed that I've been half sane.
Only got a Pot Noodle and half a can of K,
And not a single neighbours asked if I'm okay.
Coz this countries a fucking shit show,
BoJo clown, Tory fucking road show.
Every booked ops gonna be a no show,
And I'd risk ten new fines to make some quick dough.
So this rope here is going to stay,
You never know I might need to use it one day.
I let it swing back n forth an give it a play,
Then kick the chair, doped choked, merry on my way.
© 2020 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid
So go fuck Facebook,
fake friends,
and fucked faced,
Facebook wannabes.
Your profiles prob all been cloned,
so I only seen,
what I wanna see,
yet never seen.
20 year old dole blogs, arguing, musing,
I could have been,
I should have been,
why wasn't I a “been”?
And decades year old school friends,
Snapshoted and crop shotted,
where I wanna be, could have been,
yet never seen.
Fuck fake face pretends,
big bell ends,
past wanna bees,
and ancient beauty queens.
Facefuck's trade is soaring,
scammers' is roaring.
posters selling, fake post pretending, miss-telling,
but never ever, sending.
Southern beauty Queens,
spots never seen and endless video streams,
of automatic wet dreams,
could have, should have beens, but sadly never to be's...
Got a dozen more “friend” requests to send,
then I'll have tons more “friends”,
in my "fiend list" than your "friend list", even if it never ends,
but sadly from clicks you didn't, but wish you'd really sent.
And now every Thursday night,
is weekly indoors street party night,
support health workers rights,
nurse our Boris Johnsons tight.
Otherwise society will get offended,
because when society isn't shaped and bended,
and when it's time to rhyme along, we get along, so sing along,
and clap and salute, right?
It's 8 O'clock no?
The Sun says so, so it must be so,
porch or window, put on a good show,
coz it's patriots time and not clapping could never be a crime....
But shouldn't the NHS be funded right,
for all times, all come, day and night,
not just in case of virus times,
like this emergency fruitbug crime?
So sorry Mr OAP,
your name forgets me,
but the Mail,
always kindly, and daily, reminds me.
I really don't appreciate being told,
daily, needlessly re-sold,
about your patrioticy, your charity,
lapping your lawn as I drink my morns cup of tea.
You'd be sitting in silk slippers son,
drinking pints of Rum,
not in photos with Daily n Scum,
if was up to me.
But you're not, you're just another Facebook meme,
been sent off the best team.
A striker Besties never seen,
yet just more Facefucked news to read!
© 2020 Robert Reid – All Rights Reserved
He was just a stupid young kid, jobless and broke,
But the prick tries robbing me and I think it's a joke.
Then a shank is produced, I see the blade through the smoke,
So I snap his arm in two and let him sleep in my choke.
Think nothing of it, coz it happens all the time,
But stupid plod cops want to nick me, for a non-crime.
Get a 6 o'clock knock, and see a long blue line,
And I'm remanded to Reading, to wait for court time.
Got nothing in my pockets but I kept a penny cheeked,
Least half an oz passes on visits, from week to week.
Throw cash devils way and he'll give you what you seek,
But guards beam on touching, so we pass cheek to cheek.
Got a smelly cell mate, who don't wash or pull the chain,
And another white yoof, talking black without no shame.
My tackles plugged 24/7, unless the boys have gone to play a game,
So I straighten tin pie wraps to smoke on, til a screw came.
Got a kicking in the cell and batons shave my shins,
A mattress beating at night and cell mates never see a thing.
I poke a screw in the throat and he chokes on my fings,
Then I'm stripped beat n battered, whilst I hear the screws sing.
A month in solitary, and I'm shitting in a hole,
Got roaches for company and a dark hearted soul.
My foods mixed with crushed glass, so I can't eat at all,
All coz a screw got a taste, and a heart black as coal.
Finally I'm acquitted, on a plea of self defence,
But the screw gets me nicked, just on offence.
Thought half the jury, would have sat on the fence,
But they all send me to chokey, to be confined with the dense.
So I'm back to prison, but this time it ain't no remand,
A crime I wouldn't call it, but still the record stands.
Hear that kids bredrins on the wing, shanks pass hands,
And I end up dead in the showers, stabbed on demand.
© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid
I got no smart shoes, but got food,
You want some food?
I got dark or white, it's up to you,
It's food for the soul, and my souls well abused,
My shoes don't shine but yours don't too.
Coz I got no roof over ma head and ma cars ma bed,
I park down alleys, n pull ma coat over ma head.
My friends pretend, but don't wanna let me rest ma legs,
I beg n beg but get ripped to shreds.
Coz a friend in need is a friend who thieves,
I've woke before to find friends on their knees.
Sifting through ma tings, taking what they need,
My pills n ching your supposed to leave.
I walk on pins, and blood seeps through my skin,
I'd tell you the truth but never know where to begin.
I've hid before behind wheelie bins,
Watching murder scenes as Police teams, scan n beam.
My shoes may not shine, but 100% they're mine,
Never going down for a heist on Clarkes, damn stupid crime.
Treds cleaner than my bed n well past their prime,
You better lick my feet coz your face is well worth the time.
Coz a friend in need must be a friend with greed,
Their needs so deep, they forget you in a heart beat.
A place to stay isn't a doggy treat,
You'd rather call the law than let me rest my feet.
So do you want these shoes, I say exist?
A pair of feet golden from the sun, but moon blessed.
Ten rough blistered toes, that the devils kissed,
Bore babies to the Gods, but ill conceived half pissed.
I maybe bat fuck crazy, but mans no joke no toke,
Small room filled with fumes and a sign not to smoke.
A stand up man, and all round good bloke,
But pull a stunt like that and you'll die in my choke.
Coz I done time, thrown lines and stood in line for brine,
What yours is mine, and what's mine is mine.
Got an eye for wheels n never paid speeding fine,
Cash on tap whoever said it don't pay well crime?
So go walk a mile, in my soiled wet shoes,
Go slow, two by two, like rats led by a flute.
Tred the worn path with a laugh, give that man a toot,
N don't be the sow, fat cow, slow meat farmers shoot.
Coz a friend in need is a friend who bleeds,
Share blood in a stall, pass works beneath.
Core blimey son, he said goodbye with a tweet,
5 years then passed before he was found dead in the street.
Coz I aint got no smart shoes, but have you?
Or are your treds worn dead, a sick man with no clue.
A suited fat lawyer, pimping a room with no view,
No win no fee, but got time to sue.
Coz I count the real friends on my pinks, from head to toe,
A real friend will lend and don't put on a show.
That's why I don't have real friends, they're a bar set too low,
And I walk these shit shoes alone on dis path I know.
© 2020 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid
Blue is the colour of my shoe,
From treds to felt, my fav colours blue.
I never ever, never knew what to do,
Enter sports shop, find shoes, jump queue.
Coz blue is the colour of my team,
30 years gone, and not a title seen.
Southall and Sheedy were the cream,
Curl a 30-yard shot, and rattle goal beam.
But blue is the color of my sun,
Until a runny nose n the sweats no fun.
Pop a few sweeties under tongue,
1000 milligram, it's a daily re-run.
Coz blue is the colour of my loo,
I don't shit funny, but my disinfectants blue.
N I always wipe the seat, a tissue or few,
Not worth sitting wet, trying to hav a poo.
But blue is the colour of the few,
There 2 protect the rich n always there to abuse a few.
Corruptible heroes, shirted in blue,
Rock hard action men but always come in 2s.
And blue is the colour of this Skrew,
I made the name up, only I do the Skrew.
A skrew blue poem, words still true,
My blue screwed up hand, is testimony to this Skrew.
© 2020 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid