Haunted House.

dark post-punk hip-hop, British accented spoken-word rap, Northern English working-class snarl, lo-fi and dry, close-mic intimate vocal almost talking, menacing restrained verses building to fevered intensity, brooding minor-key bassline, sparse heartbeat kick drum, rain and room-tone ambience, gritty distorted guitar stabs, no autotune, raw and unpolished, cinematic dread, 85 bpm soft deadpan sung lullaby, eerie music-box sweetness, single clean voice, unsettling calm

V5.5

There was a man an his spouse
who lived in a right scary house 
haunted? nah a ghost'd ave more grace
a ghost'd ave the decency to fuck off from the place

Thursday were thirsty the cupboard were bare
the leccy on a meter that we fed wi a prayer,
no shoppin' while Friday while the wage come in
from the bricks that he laid then he'd lay into the gin,
an the gin laid into us an the us laid low,
on the lino dead quiet watchin' which way it'd go,
'cause a hard man's only hard on the soft an' the small
build walls for the rich put his fist through your wall

so fuck it fuck the lot of it,
the scary little house an the rot of it,
fuck the Thursday thirst an the bottle an the belt,
an fuck how it felt coz I'll not be the kid that I were,
no flowers no sorry no get-well-soon card,
ya med it dead simple, ya med it dead hard,
ya want a happy endin' there int one, love.
just a kid who got out wi' two fingers up.

the bang on the wall an the bang on mi mam,
the swing an the slam an the 'don't tell a soul, understand?'
the reek of him sweatin' the ale through his skin,
the creak of mi door as the worst of him come in
not like that no, but the fear were the same,
not knowin' which version o' the bastard he became,
an the mornin' all 'sorry, son, I weren't meself' 
nah. that were thee at tha truest, ya snake, in tha health.

an me mam, she'd just hoover, she'd hoover round the dread,
push it round the corpse of a marriage long dead,
keep up appearances, net curtains, all nice,
'what'll the neighbours think' well, they heard it through twice,
an they said nowt, an the school said nowt,
an the kid wi the lip grew a gob an a doubt,
an a chip an a snarl an a fuck you for free,
taught missen to bite 'fore the world could bite me.

'son… I've not been well, son', aye ya look a right state,
'I did mi best, son', did ya? did ya? that's great.
funny, 'cause tha best put me mam's tooth through the sky,
ya want forgiveness owd man? buy it. there's a price. there's a aisle.
the same aisle I went thirsty down, go help tha sen,
I owe thee nowt, not a visit, not a card, not amen,
I'm not cruel. I'm just even. that's all that I learned.
tha lit the match, owd lad. don't cry now it's burned.

I'm not 'ealed, I'm not whole, I'm not one o' them blokes
that did a podcast on his trauma an' forgave all the folk
nah, I just stuck it in a song an' I'll flog it for a quid,
an' I sleep like a baby, like I never did as a kid,
got me own four walls now, an' the cupboard's never bare,
an' me girls 'ave never flinched at the scrape of a chair,
an' if that's not a happy endin', then I don't know what is 
'cause it weren't. it weren't. it never bloody is.

so there was a man an his spouse,
who lived in a right scary house.
an the kid grew up an he burned it to the ground
not the bricks, the fear, an he never looked round.
(fuck it)
(fuck it)
(haunted? nah. not any more.)

2876/7500

There was a man an his spouse who lived in a right scary house haunted? nah a ghost'd ave more grace a ghost'd ave the decency to fuck off from the place Thursday were thirsty the cupboard were bare the leccy on a meter that we fed wi a prayer, no shoppin' while Friday while the wage come in from the bricks that he laid then he'd lay into the gin, an the gin laid into us an the us laid low, on the lino dead quiet watchin' which way it'd go, 'cause a hard man's only hard on the soft an' the small build walls for the rich put his fist through your wall so fuck it fuck the lot of it, the scary little house an the rot of it, fuck the Thursday thirst an the bottle an the belt, an fuck how it felt coz I'll not be the kid that I were, no flowers no sorry no get-well-soon card, ya med it dead simple, ya med it dead hard, ya want a happy endin' there int one, love. just a kid who got out wi' two fingers up. the bang on the wall an the bang on mi mam, the swing an the slam an the 'don't tell a soul, understand?' the reek of him sweatin' the ale through his skin, the creak of mi door as the worst of him come in not like that no, but the fear were the same, not knowin' which version o' the bastard he became, an the mornin' all 'sorry, son, I weren't meself' nah. that were thee at tha truest, ya snake, in tha health. an me mam, she'd just hoover, she'd hoover round the dread, push it round the corpse of a marriage long dead, keep up appearances, net curtains, all nice, 'what'll the neighbours think' well, they heard it through twice, an they said nowt, an the school said nowt, an the kid wi the lip grew a gob an a doubt, an a chip an a snarl an a fuck you for free, taught missen to bite 'fore the world could bite me. 'son… I've not been well, son', aye ya look a right state, 'I did mi best, son', did ya? did ya? that's great. funny, 'cause tha best put me mam's tooth through the sky, ya want forgiveness owd man? buy it. there's a price. there's a aisle. the same aisle I went thirsty down, go help tha sen, I owe thee nowt, not a visit, not a card, not amen, I'm not cruel. I'm just even. that's all that I learned. tha lit the match, owd lad. don't cry now it's burned. I'm not 'ealed, I'm not whole, I'm not one o' them blokes that did a podcast on his trauma an' forgave all the folk nah, I just stuck it in a song an' I'll flog it for a quid, an' I sleep like a baby, like I never did as a kid, got me own four walls now, an' the cupboard's never bare, an' me girls 'ave never flinched at the scrape of a chair, an' if that's not a happy endin', then I don't know what is 'cause it weren't. it weren't. it never bloody is. so there was a man an his spouse, who lived in a right scary house. an the kid grew up an he burned it to the ground not the bricks, the fear, an he never looked round. (fuck it) (fuck it) (haunted? nah. not any more.)

0/500