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Dizraeli
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Bomb Tesco
Who's this? Another rapper with a messiah complex Thinking when I write a concept, it stops the nonsense But God chuckles, so I let go
Playing African drums in the carpark of Tesco
My heart is vast and growing- it beats in paradiddles casting poems out through the drab and the drizzle
that drives down, and penetrates the shoppers' coats- one office bloke gives me a look like 'you can't stop this bro'...
But I can bang a drum until my hands fall apart
and if it makes one shopper dance, that's my calling answered.
My reason for playing the evening til the morning after Carry my flame like stigmata through the falling darkness and the rising light- I hit the goatskin
The nature of sound means it always finds an opening. This time, I'm hoping it might find your lugholes
And if it does, I'll flood your subconscious with a drumroll...
That's the movement, what? The movement
None of your rulers can stop the movement
Because it moves in the veins of the movers
Their brains and their boots
and the strains of their music...
('this is your time... Bomb Tesco')
That's my primal ish, son
my tribal rhythm bounces somewhat manically in the cavity of your sinuses
in order to fill your mind with this ethereal medicine-
you might just find yourself beatboxing in the cereal section
Or tapping 4/4 beats on tins of corned beef
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Or slapping a solo on a slab of mature cheese
the manager's called Steve,
and he comes over to chat to you
Saying, 'please do not practice drum patterns on cans of tuna
It's very distracting to the consumer'
...but in mid-opus, Steve freezes and his eyes switch focus.
He grabs a pack of Kit-E-Kat and starts to shake a latin rhythm with it.
and the shelf-stacker, Dave, is rapping bits of lyrics ... he's very gifted.
And within a minute Delores from storage has chipped in with a sung in Zulu.
They never knew she could do that, it's hard to believe Steve is beating the bass on 2 vats of margarine
and Dawn, from customer services, is busting verses over the P.A,
and Gary who has a nervous twitch, and a weak brain
is stamping out the hardest beats on the counter of the pharmacy
Scattering paracetamol rather anarchically...
Before long, the whole supermarket's deep with raw song Somebody's even found some frozen cod they can play chords on.
Four long hours later, you step out in the fading light
with a new perception of space and time.
In the carpark, a strange guy is playing a djembe...
what a weird way to waste a Wednesday.
That's the movement, what? The movement None of your rulers can stop the movement Because it moves in the veins of the movers Their brains and their boots and the strains of their music...
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