Two-Tone Hat and the Happy Slap

This song emerged from a poem about Happy Slapping – that disgusting ‘trend’ of videoing people being beaten up by gangs – to be more about the esates that breed these anti-social clowns. Two-tone being the ska music of the day…

Two-Tone Hat and the Happy Slap

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Nature or nurture?

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His youth seems so endless

feels like infinity

in boxers and socks

he’s drowning in his X-Box

plays a holy-roller

in a Trinity.

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Boyfriends drool

as girlfriends mewl

inside phone booths

that spark-lit flicker

in the bilge-rat dark.

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Shipwrecked fools

and drunken youths

that hooded, snicker

in the needled park.

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He feels so pointless

no moral compass

his mum’s on his back

and his dad had a heart attack

a recycled brat

in a gardenless flat

in his two-toned hat.

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There’s more to life

than these four walls

and high-rise thrills

and silent calls.

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The high-rise

and the underpass:

the hunting ground

of the underclass

where neon strip-lights 

spark and buzz

like swarms of angry bees.

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You can screw your hippy-crap

who wants to hear a one-hand clap?

your freaking trees can fall unheard

unheeded by this urban herd.

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Pit-bitches raise a hue and cry

they see him through pinhole eyes

he’s leaving their honey trap

no more cider and happy-slap.

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His world seems so limiting

feels like insanity

with bulldogs and bones

sees ABH with traffic-cones

a baby in a stroller

shouting out profanities.

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His friends skipped school

and play the fool

besides young girls

their hormones quicken

in their crow-black cars.

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See fleeting shapes

and silent rapes

the plot-lines thicken

in the back-street bars.

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He knows they’re heartless:

a pack mentality

his sister’s on her back

while his dad has a spaz attack

a recycled brat

can be better than that

in his two-toned hat.

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There’s more to life

than these four walls

and high-rise thrills

and silent calls.

~~~~

The high-rise

and their spiral stairs

through broken doors

and the open air

Where neon stage-lights

spark and buzz

like swarms of fire-flies.

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You can screw your hippy-crap

who wants to hear a one-hand clap?

music fills his heart and head

he leaves behind his unmade bed.

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Pit-bitches try to say goodbye

they see him through a stranger’s eye

they gaze up at his old flat

drifting down is his two-tone hat…

(Genetics)

(There’s so much more)

There’s more to life

than these four walls

and high-rise thrills

and siren calls.

 (He’s better than them)

(Genetics)

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