Gold-handed standing
On stage quiet, not blanking
No causes to champion
Nobody to thank
Except myself, of course
Caused all of this
My own course charted, born to explore the path to starboard
What by charm or politic I can’t pry loose
I will endeavour to accrue by force, my new rule
Born two years before ‘94, 92 for the maths confused
Postcode got good later, back then it was ‘life’s what you make it’
Had nothing much but always had potatoes
Mam’s thrift came in clutch
We knew everyone, she was well in touch
From the trolley pushers to the butchers
She hardly knew her son would grow up to be the local pusher
No one touch me, no one touch her
Or I’ll lose it all to win like Mother Russia
The big push I push back the front
The burning bush said directly: he’s a cunt
Won’t budge on this bodge price
Rice white sniff or budgerigar capsules
New shit no fad jewels
Smooth whip, drinks mad fuels
Alchemisland 
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