Alchemisland

Stack so small I’m like what’s this, a bankroll for ants?

Remove my gun hand from my pants front, palling around with my love pump

Like I was filling the Lambo up on premium, grasp teasingly the handgun walnut stock

Feels dreamy in my hands, planning schemes and drama scenes

Teens out reaving, stealing packs like it was a tragic game of capture the flag

Brought me back a bloodstained schoolbag, shotblacked, had to laugh

These sprogs don’t mess with terror attacks or shock tactics, no antics just shankings

I’m walking my dog in Shankill, I’m holding pills and a half mill but Misfits Nathan

Can’t be killed, these estates ain’t safe and anything but quaint

Every ambulation comes with a close shave, or a free ambulance chase

Ensure my diamond chain is visible over my rain, no one deranged enough to train

A scope where I hold my operational scopes and poetry notes, lest you elope

Who the suited lucky suitor was no one knows, they don’t know you’re in a dingy hole

In the back arse of Phoeno, only I know that, and Deano; main star of the Beano

Me total menace, leaning on the chain link fence while you play tennis, replenishing on Tennent’s

Afterwards, I’m gonna smash your knees and ankles with a table leg, no more sets or pegging it

At least when you’re shopping you’ll get to use the disabled space, every coin two faces

We moved apart, the requisite paces, the space between us, the lanes of change

We exchange upon the referee’s command, one frame I’ve raised my hand and blammed

I’ve done the damage before he’s even got his piece free from the scabbard

I’d feel bad if it mattered but I’ve been getting thrashed, battered, feeling Mad Hatter

I’ve always been the one who set the pace, I keep the pace, all they do is syncopate

Been chased and ran away, I’ve changed, from day to day, but I’ve never been chaste

Pimpwalking, coat like a cape, caked in drip, shades lifted and hair slicked back

Wrap the noquestionasker in plastic after the designated family disaster is enacted

Wet, warping plaster, wallpaper with black spots like a cancer, wickeating flames

Spraying from the hay-igniting lighter, for a moment only the darkness brighter

Bright now sure but in my day I was brighter, fire white and chasuble pure

Lavabo the cure, confined now to dismal lonely sinecure, curing my sins

With insistent, persistent, unstill silence, gravelike and violent

I sit still, legs crossed idol fashion, none of that once-dashing aspect left

I think you’re right saying I’m better off an anchorite

I’ve always needed someone or something to anchor me, set me right

I need a Jiminy Cricket to tell me which rides to deny.