Paul Cree - My Town lyrics

Reece in the middle east. War and Reece. Give Reece a chance. The Reece Envoy I wouldn't cla** myself as a boy, but I Reckon I've got a bit if needs be. I'm just really not one for a row. I believe there's a better way. The human devolved reason it went beyond the primate. With the weapon of reason and the evolution of negotiation, There's no reason to be unreasonable. And it's not infeasible, for two men, to discuss there differences, Even in my town. Where the gene pool is so shallow that's impossible to drown. Yet I still struggle to keep my head above the water. But I fight my corner with the spirit of the Irish Despite being 3 generations in, Anglicized, and having a dislike for a fight It's these contradictions which keep me awake at night The ensuing sleep deprivation, Is the main cause for the mistakes that I make, Each time I type. Repetitively entering data onto a spreadsheet during the hours of 9 to half 5. "Reece, you need to pay more attention" "Reece, your late again" "Reece, this is your first verbal warning, if you get a third, this goes on your record" My record. You see that there's the irony. I'd love to have a record. A pristine white sleeved vinyl, from the product of Logic, Cubase and Fruity Loops Sonic meditation sessions complimented with tea, biscuits and maybe, Some of them fruity zoots. Not a written warning, due to being late, Because I was up late, With my mates, Smoking green and drinking booze. Puff and beer. It's pretty much the extent of what goes on around here Except one's legal and one's not But they both require a spot or a premises, Where my friends and I, Argue the toss over anything from football to genies, Middle east conspiracies and why Sainsburys Taste The Difference, Makes Tesco's finest, look like Tesco's grimiest Whatever the weather it's what we do. But it's what we don't do in my little crew which pains me. We just don't seem to ever achieve anything. Blaming it all entirely on weed is a cop out It's this place If hope was part of the national grid it bypa**ed my town, But encircled it, Making us piggy in the middle. Laughing at the inhabitants as we wallow in self doubt. Swallowing the cheap stout larger and biter served to us in Weatherspoons, Bitter about the card life has dealt Underachievement, low expectation, That's considered an occupation around these parts, But its not like were deprived Like one of those old towns built up round a coal mine that didn't survive, There's employment here. The city's near by its close enough to commute, And far away enough to not to hear the gun shots shoot, II you were to take heed of everything my Daily Reading, Next door neighbor says. It's a cycle of mundane simplicity A conveyor belt of extreme mediocrity. Dissenters either get out, Or give in. Leave school, Get a job, Get pissed, Sleep around, Find a girl "She's the one" Settle down. Save cash, Buy a car, Get a flat, Have a kid, Get married, Conduct a fling, Re-unite, "never again." Another kid, sell the flat, Get a house. 3 bed with a drive, And a little garden for bbq's in the summertime Maintain the garden on a regular basis, Fill it full of pretty shrubs and potted plants. Repeat that final step till you physically cant, And your kids have to put you into a care home, Where you sat, Wheeled in front of a telly which excessively sows re-runs of Homes in the sun and Holyaoks, "You think too much Reece, you should stop smoking all the weed" I lost a tooth not long ago Standing outside this nightclub waiting for a taxi 2 am and I was ready for bed Me, Gary and Big Del. Gary and Big Del were chatting up 2 girls, I was trying to flag down a taxi. Along comes this taxi, Out goes my hand, I was next in line. But at the last minute, 4 boozed up boys all shirts and shiny shoes, Bowled up ignoring the que and went to commandeer my taxi I was tired and I wanted to go home. I was not in the mood for anyone taking the piss. But at the same time, I was very aware how these situations can often end. The petrol, is already soaked into the fabric of the clothes, All you need is a flame, And it's Britain There's no shortage of ignition, Particularly on a Thursday night, Buy one get one free on bottles of date expired Stella Artois. So I turned round to the guy at the front and I said, "excuse me, bruv, but I was next yea" The geezer at the front turns back to me and says "fair play fella, you cant blames us for trying, know what I mean"? As he retreated towards the back of the taxi que, With his mates in tow, He light-heartedly pushed me on the shoulder, In a sign of booze induced brotherhood. At this point though, Gary, enters into the peace process, Misinterpreting the push. Gary's my friend, Gary is a nice guy. But he's got a bit of reputation for a fight, Especially when he's got a drink inside. He's blown more fuses, than a rusty old fuses box. BANG Out goes another light. Now I stepped straight in to interject. And I managed to block a fist that was trying to connect with Garys face, As one of the banged out guys mates, Who incidentally was a big fat geezer carrying a lot of weight, Was now full of rage! Except my yellow belt Street Fighter 2 blocking device, Happened to be, My face. I remember that feeling of being all spaced. Not really knowing where I was. Northing making any sense, Hearing people shouting around me, But sounding like it was off in the distance. Until the pain suddenly kicked in. And bought me crashing back to earth. Quite literally With one tooth missing, And blood trickling down my chin. This is my town