Alchemisland

I pry about safes, I play nothing safe

I ply wiles, I psy war

All my lore fit for the highstrangeness board

More karma on the post than bigfoot proof

Blow the roof of a cryptozoologist’s room

With 4k snaps of the Basingstoke Puma

Fuming out my room verdant extrusions exuded from my zoot

I enter higher tax brackets and price ranges

Consignments delivered my assignments

Father was a county lineman

Later became a white van man

Went through life without a plan

But he had pride, that man

He never put out his hand begging

He’d send me in nicking then we’d leg it

From the police down Clarendon Street

Like we were IRA on Easter morning 1916

Buyers texting high amounts, first bidders get it

Debtors getting threatened, Deco coming collecting

He dislikes exams, you better not test him

He’s got fists like Christmas hams vegan-vexing

He hits the desk, no Skittles, they found springs a mile away, one hitter

Quitter, I almost put the sliotar down a dog throat at the traphouse

Cú Chulainn how you like me now, ’93 last time I wore trousers

Hair long, tousled, muscles out, purple paint swirls if allowable

Spirals carved on rocks fascinate me because I’m Irish

Extra inch when I wear my Docs

See a doc about that cough, not on your noddy

Need excuses for nightly hot toddy, getting noddy hottie from Peru

Seeing her through the phone screen like we were chatting on Zoom

Make a private room I need to book a private booth

Someone fetch me a booty to store my lucre in

Rich off sports betting and fruities, coke duty from cuties

Can’t buy class but I buy a lot of class stuff for my gaff

Gassed all the time, got more ass than James Joyce’s marriage

Because of my choices often in bandages, battered for my attitude

I carry no banners, no flag flapping when I crash into your flank

My capacity for malice vast as my lust for ass alas

Sometimes I fall flat, rage is great, sustains, but fades fast

Prostrate at last, painted every colour light through stained glass

Refracting, cracking into diamonds of reckless fantasy

Snakeskin boots slithering along the accelerator

Like it was a moss-clad log in the Amazon, morning fog

Guerillas in the mist no practice never missing

Doing up crack packages in kitchens

Enough funds to get airlifted when the authorities come

Name a name he’s in pocket, receipts and dockets

Mentions and offers I must be popping off, popular

My pills cause people to start dropping off, narcolepsy

Halfway through a spiked Pepsi, I prefer Sprite anyway

Manifest needs not destiny, I’m on the cheese quest

Like Wallace and Gromit kind.