Them Chavs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Local Nuisances

Submitted: July 22, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 22, 2011




Seen him every day for the past three years around the streets

He walks head down, phone in hand, one headphone in listening to his beats

Asks for cigarettes and or money from every person that he meets

Thinks he's some bad boy gangster rapper eating a fifty p bag of sweets

Always got the same old dark hoodie, baggie jeans, burberry cap on

Thinks he's cool and shit, but would look much cooler were he to wear a strap-on

Knows at seventeen that his chance in life has long since gone

Has no Father as a role model but is still somebody's Son

There is every possibility for him to achieve, but his attitude is bad

Ask the boy to do something and he becomes agitated, confused, paranoid and mad

'Man don't disrespec me an shiiit, I ain't doin' jack and you can blame my fucking Dad'

Has to act this way in front of  his mates so they don't brandish him as sad

Only had one part-time job and got treated 'like a mug' so quit

It was as a cleaner in Macdonalds while he sorted out his shit

But he knew pretty much straight away that his face would never fit

So he failed to turn in on day two, chose to stay at home to 'spit'

With his bruddas and bred' and his posse of ne'erdowells

Sharing one can of white lightning and destroying valuable brain cells

In a dark and poorly furnished squat of a room where he dwells

Where everything is old or broken and is soiled or smells

As daylight fades outside the shops he strikes his unique pose

Arms folded, shoulder stooped, hood right down to his nose

Trying to flog a  stolen moped or a neighbours missing catalogue clothes

Shows off to younger girls with exuberent aggressive shows

If he is successful with his pitch and eventually gets some 'dollar'

Walks round the supermarket, bowling, popping his collar

Knows for sure the staff will be on edge and security guards will folla

So to claim his place as 'the king of the shops' he will holler

Thinks he can earn our respect with menaces and threats

The little prick deserves everything the little prick ever gets

He ain't even hard and on that I'm taking bets

What he does have in his armour is he hangs around in sets

Fight one, fight 'em all or risk being dethroned

And losing his status to earn cash for getting stoned

Doesn't matter what or where he nicks shit or by whom it's owned

Just as long as a good day ends with the boys getting zoned

He is nervous, edgy, loud and very very abrasive

Knows he has a knack of knowing how to be persausive

But corner the dog on his own and soon he is evasive

As he has no accomplices on whom he can fight back with

Never goes on holiday and not been in town for a year

Every single solitary penny he gets, spends it on drugs and beer

Offers nothing to the community he trashes but a sneer

Would joy-ride stolen cars if he could but has not got the brain to steer

Midweek and the weekend seemlessly blur into one

Spent four hours just last week trashing the allotments just for fun

He' so tough when the 'Old Bill' turned up, he run

Dreams of one day having enough cash to buy a gun

And guess what? yep rob people on the same streets he lives

Admit all to his mum and she instantly forgives

'It's not his fault he knocks about with them kids that carry chivs-

- Iv'e fucking told him loadsa times them fucking kids are divs'

Well that justifies that then and puts us all straight

If it were'nt for 'that lot' he'd be just like a best mate

And you would laugh off the fact he's drunk and in a state

'Cos when your new friend is sober, your new friend is really great

Last thing at night just as all the shops are closing

The car-park is being cleaned and swept and men are busy hosing

Away the remnants of the day and rubbish,  he's still  posing

Wayward thoughts enter his mind and now he is supposin'

That what if one of them is holding cash for his last of the day 'fix'

Now he scans them each in turn before his prey he picks

Selects his weapon of attack from a pile of bricks

He runs towards his victim and rains down blows and kicks

Hits the poor guy so flaming hard, fractures the socket of his eye

Laughing while he does so, feels no remorse so doesn't cry

Not knowing what has hit him the attacked just cries 'why?'

But the assailant has long gone and is busy getting high

If I could catch the culprit I would stamp upon his face

'Cos if you ain't got no evidence the Police won't go round his place

And I feel he has no right to share my living space

As he's not like me and you, he's from another race

He is a clear end product of the 'have nots' not the 'haves'

Them fuckin chavs...


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