Don't talk to me of fucking representing
the class yer were born into any more.
Yer going to get 'urt and start resenting
it's not poetry we need in this class war.
Yer've given yerself toffee, cunt. Who needs
yer fucking poufy words. Ah write mi own.
Ah've got mi work on show all over Leeds
like this U N I T E D 'ere on some sod's stone.
• Well, that was as good as radio gets. Fuck. All I can do now is sit here in silence for a bit...
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