FACT CHECK, 1-2

Introduction: I woke up this morning and rhymed my mind wheels. Enjoy, love, fly.

Fact check and false check chicken neck
Fat Cheque, fake chap, make chat,
Ignorant ain’t cha’

I look pale but I got this tribal trail for yer’
A big whale, like a shark fish swimming tour
Eternally 23, names wordsley
Off the top get a mop cuz’ brexshit moves sleazey
You tease me, with the promise of rhyme
Debase me, with crime-minister prime

I’m coming for Boris with Jez and Chuck Norris
We gonna’ plant a forest, we gonna’ chant a chorus
For poets who come before us, and claw us a torus

In spore us inspire us can’t tire us with tyrants
My family migrants with floral fragrance not vagrants
This ones for the vegans pagans and Finnegans
Rap shenanigans in my shattergums sugar-plumb fairy songs
Sculptured bongs in cultured dishes, make three curses
And bake four wishes

Get some tissues, for this fission-fusion
Boris and Mogg And Farage mirage illusion
Contusion contortion, lies and distortion
More than their portion of sleepy Eaton potion
Dribbled out to the nation
Logic on ration
The P.M loves fashion
And the fashion is fascism and isms and schism
First-class division for second class vision

Fact check and false check chicken neck
Fat Cheque, fake chap, make chat,
Ignorant ain’t cha’

Fuck Boris, don’t let the lies permeate
Hold the motherfucker to each word turd mate
Tabloid media failing yer big tech selling yer’
Big dicks swinging yer getting fucked I’m tellin’ yer
Wake up smell it year
The writings pun the wall and it’s led by donkeys
The two blonde beasts were both bred by honkies
War carded, retorytarded
fart in the face of democracy, Trump
A bull in the office of orifice, Boris

So I leave that behind and get my ass outside
Take a trip to the park and go “weeeee” down the slide
I skip some dog shit and write a new hit
I got more on my shoe than I know what to doo-doo with
so I pick it and flip it and scrape some more off
While thinking of Putin and Mikhail…Gorbachev
Having a loff’ getting shit of my shoes
The arbitrary rhyme scheme to mean tepid blues

It looked like choco ice cream but
Tasted like marmite mixed with
Vaseline, a brexshit dream

Fact check and false check chicken neck
Fat Cheque, fake chap, make chat,
Ignorant ain’t cha’

Well listen, they’re not all this, and all that
I’m not all steve and I’m not all Pratt
Don’t carry a gat or a bat or gun
Just a couple of pens, some vinyl and drum
Ruppa-Pum-Pummel your feet with stones
Eat hot dog buns with spiced microphones

Fight waves and resistance with minimal drag
like a sea hag witch shaman poet slag
lightning bolt one-leg from Winnipoop-peg
Smoked your last roach and drank the last dreg

Goodbye summer wine hello winter rant
When I write off the dome its me, ste, itinerant
Squinity butterfly sprinty, with an Irish tint
Favourite colours green, and flavour mint

I put your tongue in a splint
And sent your eyeballs to Clent
Nose to the grind
And ears important
Head in the clouds and feet on the slab
Gimme some acid to unleash my splift’ of the gob

These rhymes on a cob
This life of a slob, firing back at the mob
Who lost you your job
With lies from their club
I shoot with this dub
I scoot to the nub
Just dance to the sub
Sit up, don’t be a slouch like Mogg
Be like Jez
Make plans to heal this mezz’
Confess and test the best of yourself
Get abreast of yourself
Find the rest of yourself
Find the others

Oh, oh, oh….find, the others
Agree to tolerate their manias
If they can tolerate yours
Be like flipper not Jaws
Take a walk take a pause
Reflect and direct the love in all ways
The hated are fated to be elated with antiquated hate

Fact check and false check chicken neck
Fat Cheque, fake chap, make chat,
Ignorant ain’t cha’

A poet avoids rhyme like the plague
Forcing clarity of sanity distinguished from vague
These rhymes are childish
Puns served hot and mildish
English tingle ish’ single this, finger lift, to right wing toffs

I wish I wish in just one stanza
You’d explain the brexit extravaganza
Hex it, stop it, smell it, chuck it, heal it, steal it,
Few walk the talk, few truly feel it
If you want to fight Trump you have to stop Brexit
That’s it, in a nutshell, a gut smell, say what now?
What punk-rock rap includes lyrics from Bercow?
Get justified ancient and Moo Moo
Come together and tackle the doo-doo

Fact check and false check chicken neck
Fat Cheque, fake chap, make chat,
Ignorant ain’t cha’

Fact check, 1-2.

–Steve Fly 9th, October, 2019. Amsterdblam.

STEVE FLY: SELECTED POETRY

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