SKЯ3W 2

SKЯ3W Epstein, n screw the news,

Vampire Satanic shiz, giving me the blues. 

Skr3w the elite, n Skrew the u know who's,

This GoySlops makes us not know what to do.

Right this is a Skrewball all bout SkЯ3win, 

It's flesh rot bog clot, hot pot stewin. 

I don't care what u might now be doin,

It's time 2 get rap tight, wrong write, SЯ3wball Skrewing.  

So the main man ain't 2 happy,

Got a goggled eyed baby, whose turned too dappy.

His wife's asked him 2 change his nippers nappy,

Coz his baby's assholes, gone all crappy. 

Sloppy gloopy sunny side ups,

His misses needs a proper measuring cup. 

She can't cook eggs so wats da fux up, 

Man needs a woman, 2 clean up his muck up. 

 So fuck this, he's off for a drive,.

But got blue lights flashin, right behind,

TBH he don't really mind,

He shudn't B driving, wen he's legally blind.

So he gets pulled over by the dibble,

There mouths R frothing wiv spit n dribble.

He's getting nicked by PC Wibble,

So cold out here, he's got beach bra nipple.

Man is 1 that don't take shit, from might right bissies,

So gets right fightin tight n silly. 

Then some cock cop, whacks him in the willy. 

N now gettin clobbered by their extended Billy's. 

 

So now he's in a wagon with a piss head,

Blood splattered alchie, drunk ol dick head.

Get 2 the station 2 get his rights read,

Put in a box 4 a night's free blue bed. 

 But at midnight he gets a real cop treat, 

3 blue come in n he g3ts a mattress beat.

One cop gives him a feather tickle on his feet, 

N another 1 gives his balls a mighty ol tweak. 

Black blue bubbling cop rot shop,

Escaped from jail, nearly got shot. 

Black eye, red eye, nose n snot, 

Base balled legs n bloods runnin hot. 

But that's the fun of the cops, 

Get 6 o'clock knocks on his battered door box. 

Rushes to hide all his stolen sox, 

N hides his stash like a sly ol fox. 

Now got s chicken soup, hot rash, nut sack, 

Seems 2 hv got cock rot, from lovin his slag, 

But she's in a hump coz she's on the rag, 

So off 2 da clinic, 4 a spatula down his crack. 

Smallpox, chicken pox, hd em all, small pup, 

Bone rot, head blok, now got a sore Cock, 

Balls hot, pants dropped, dox got a real shock, 

Now it's pecker slot, red hot as in goes da spatula pop.

So this is a bubbled up, fucked up, mental Skrew,

Wat it means I ain't got a fxxking clue. 

But I'm jus Skrewballing, all Of u,

N that's my homework for u writing crew,

 

© 2026 - All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid

 

The Deepest Scratch

A scratch or two on your back,

You take a few more if you can.

She's an open red raw book,

And we always go it full hand.

Hands on a hotel window dare,

As I stand from her behind.

She likes the night-time stares,

With a constant cold slight remind.

I don't know if I trust her,

Lies and deciet rivers run deep.

I still penetrate on offer,

But paranoid rumors I keep.

Til I catch out a slight lie,

One I can't keep inside.

It hurts like a knife,

A deep cut from the side.

So I act like the Alpha Male,

Blade slipped in my back pocket.

I knock on the flat front door,

Then rampage like a sideways rocket.

There's too much blood on the floor,

And an ex best friend lying in the red.

Suddenly I don't blame him no-more,

She's deliberately set me up in bed.

Those red scratches run deep,

The ones you can never hide.

I look in the 6 by 4 cell mirror,

Still wishing for one more ride.

© 2023 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid

I overheard....

I overheard, that u were no longer my bird,

U been sleeping around, the thought was absurd.

Then I came home, 2 catch you in my bed,

With another bloke, I wanted him dead.

You were up the duff with my kid, little did I know,

Soon as I was out the picture, he got to watch them grow.

I'd like to to hav a kid, 2 bunk off school n hv a lark.

I'd like to hav a kid, to play wiv me in the park,

I'd like to get to know them, b4 I'm brown bread,

I'd like to 2 hav some1 cry, at my funeral wen I'm dead.

But I can't hv any kids, even tho I might hav a few,

N I can't hav a kid, n it saddens me that's it's true,

I got no money, n no notes for toys,

I got no dolls, or playstations for boys.

If God was real, I'd hv b normal wiv real emotions to feel,

But God must be dead, can't see no truth that he's real.

I wish I had some sense, but it's been battered out my head,

N that's why I won't see my kids, til maybe when we're dead.

© 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

Smell...

This Skr3w is new, and I dunno wat 2 do,

Bashed ten blues, but my minds still on u.

Tried 2 get up but my duvets stuck like glue,

Lying here cashless thinking who to sue.

Ur just a lovely brunette and I want 2 smell ur hair,

Give me 5 mins, I don't give a toss wat u wear.

Don't wanna get close, n I'm always aware,

That peeps think a bloke like me, cud never ever care.

I don't hav the words to spit to u online,

N u'd prob be miffed if u ever heard this rhyme.

Can't write love songs, they wudn't hv that chime,

And I run 2 much to even have the time.

I jus like that smile when u don't even know,

Flick of that brown, putting on a show.

Your the sort of girl that I'd really like to know,

But the chance of the bet is I'd prob let it blow.

So I sit here alone n just twiddle wiv my phone,

Hoping every min that u'd catch the dog n bone.

Coz the truth of the matter is I'll prob end up alone,

N that Facefuck profile I stare at, is prob just a clone.

© 2020 – All Rights Reserved - Robert Reid