S.R.K - Beer-O-Clock

julskinka

Underground Boom Bap, Swedish Folk Hip-Hop, Nordic Folk Fusion

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Five in da mornin',
blue collar sworn in,

cornflakes 'n' cold milk spilt up,
work boots on, still yawnin'.

Yous lazy fake ballers would nawt manage
workin' dis hard foh' a couple dollars,

tho'

Still got sleep in mah eyes,
if I says, not tired,
it's a lie,

but like a man fiendin' foh grams,
I get by, I get on by.

Y'all punks would cry 'n' sigh.

Dis wickedly ill-skilled
megalomaniac
maniac
unbilled writer

still got a shift ta kill,
back to back 'til he got dat golden

Pontiac!

Spoon scrape against the ceramic bowl,
eat fast,
last mouthful's mush,

tooth aches, fuck dat,
need 2 earn cash.

I gotta rush!

Manic panic,
need to pay da green,
botanic mechanic
2 keep me goin' frantic.

Could've stayed in bed,
but mah bills don't give a fuck!

Keys in mah pocket,
RD1,
C-R-V, nawt aerodynamic.

Old girl starts first turn tho',

better behaved than me.

Work my back 'n' knuckles to bone,

can't wait to go home.

Phone buzz.

It's her~~

Black rubber catsuit,
leather straps, leather boots.

Picture from our bedroom,

little sexy~~

smirk attached.

She wrote,

"I's got a surprise for you."

I know dat black zipper,
it gets me a lil' bigger.

I know dat smile,
gets mah finger on da trigger.

She knows what I like,
got me eager, got me quicker,

soon shootin' net like
Peter Parker (haha).

Last time she wore it,
I near pulled
my hamstring
from smashin' too hard,

the headboard broke,
not even jokin' here.

Clock the fuck out!

Rush home,
to experience "us" in lust.

I'm 'bout to get some!

Door opens,
she there,
all shiny 'n' smug.

Says,

"You hungry, babe?"

Yeah, but not foh what's in da oven,
moh foh' what's standin' on da floor.

Rubber creaks,
leather squeaks,

oh, dat sound's sweet.

Heat increased,

she's down on her knees~

I'm stood in da hallway,
forgettin' ta breathe.

I'm truly rich havin' dis bish'.

She bites her lip
'n' sucks my...

Oh fuck,
Ham 'bout to pull his hamstring again!

She laughs at mah face,
I laugh at hers.

Two horny fuckahz
stumblin' 2 bed.

HIGH-SCORE!

Again! Again! Again!

Beer o'clock!

Cold can,
cracked open,
first gulp...

Ahhh, fuckin' beautiful.

She's in mah shirt,
hair's a mess,
one leg across mine.

Latex laid out on da chair,
still got da marks
on da backside of her thighs.

She spots me inspectin' 'em,
laughs into her beer.

"Dat'll teach me."

Teach ya what?

I's thought yous was a very
WILLIN' volunteer. (hehe)

Got mah pen,
bit o' paper,
beer on da side.

Scribbled,

"willing"...

Will I?
Well, I
might.

Willin' da work?

Not particularly.

Willin' ta get back
upstairs?

Well... considerably.

See,
dat's da shit,

one little
slip o' da lip.

Willing,
will I,
well, I...

Not tryin' ta sound clever,
just enjoyin' da trip of rhyme skips.

S.R.K,
scribble,
scratch,
keep da ugly bits.

Some phrases got a limp,
still got a lovely little kick.

Pen skips,
ink spits,
beer drips on da page.

Now "paid" looks like "laid"...

Dat's mah favourite wage.

"This is the way~"

She's watchin' me,
eyebrow up,
bitin' back a smile.

"Ya writin' about me?"

Been doin' dat foh a while.

"Better not be filthy."

Babe, have ya MET me?

You bought a rubber outfit
and nearly fuckin' wrecked me.

She laughs,
I laugh,
can't even hold da pen straight.

Got a line about a silly deadline,

but da line's already late.

Dead line? Unalive? Design? Hmm...

Nah, still breathin',

still drinkin',
still thinkin'.

Still got mah beer,

still got mah dear in mah shirt,
still got her callin' me a bastard
foh makin' her ass hurt. (in love, of course)

Still got dat paddle
she told me ta put away,

still got her stealin' mah lager
'n' askin' when we're playin' again.

She leans across,
kisses me,

steals a sip o' mah beer.

Says,

"Don't stay up all night."

I say,

"Come closer, then."

Pen down.

Can up.

One last zip.

...Yeah.

Dat sentence can wait.

(HIGH-SCORE!)

Again! Again! Again!

3906/7500

Five in da mornin', blue collar sworn in, cornflakes 'n' cold milk spilt up, work boots on, still yawnin'. Yous lazy fake ballers would nawt manage workin' dis hard foh' a couple dollars, tho' Still got sleep in mah eyes, if I says, not tired, it's a lie, but like a man fiendin' foh grams, I get by, I get on by. Y'all punks would cry 'n' sigh. Dis wickedly ill-skilled megalomaniac maniac unbilled writer still got a shift ta kill, back to back 'til he got dat golden Pontiac! Spoon scrape against the ceramic bowl, eat fast, last mouthful's mush, tooth aches, fuck dat, need 2 earn cash. I gotta rush! Manic panic, need to pay da green, botanic mechanic 2 keep me goin' frantic. Could've stayed in bed, but mah bills don't give a fuck! Keys in mah pocket, RD1, C-R-V, nawt aerodynamic. Old girl starts first turn tho', better behaved than me. Work my back 'n' knuckles to bone, can't wait to go home. Phone buzz. It's her~~ Black rubber catsuit, leather straps, leather boots. Picture from our bedroom, little sexy~~ smirk attached. She wrote, "I's got a surprise for you." I know dat black zipper, it gets me a lil' bigger. I know dat smile, gets mah finger on da trigger. She knows what I like, got me eager, got me quicker, soon shootin' net like Peter Parker (haha). Last time she wore it, I near pulled my hamstring from smashin' too hard, the headboard broke, not even jokin' here. Clock the fuck out! Rush home, to experience "us" in lust. I'm 'bout to get some! Door opens, she there, all shiny 'n' smug. Says, "You hungry, babe?" Yeah, but not foh what's in da oven, moh foh' what's standin' on da floor. Rubber creaks, leather squeaks, oh, dat sound's sweet. Heat increased, she's down on her knees~ I'm stood in da hallway, forgettin' ta breathe. I'm truly rich havin' dis bish'. She bites her lip 'n' sucks my... Oh fuck, Ham 'bout to pull his hamstring again! She laughs at mah face, I laugh at hers. Two horny fuckahz stumblin' 2 bed. HIGH-SCORE! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Beer o'clock! Cold can, cracked open, first gulp... Ahhh, fuckin' beautiful. She's in mah shirt, hair's a mess, one leg across mine. Latex laid out on da chair, still got da marks on da backside of her thighs. She spots me inspectin' 'em, laughs into her beer. "Dat'll teach me." Teach ya what? I's thought yous was a very WILLIN' volunteer. (hehe) Got mah pen, bit o' paper, beer on da side. Scribbled, "willing"... Will I? Well, I might. Willin' da work? Not particularly. Willin' ta get back upstairs? Well... considerably. See, dat's da shit, one little slip o' da lip. Willing, will I, well, I... Not tryin' ta sound clever, just enjoyin' da trip of rhyme skips. S.R.K, scribble, scratch, keep da ugly bits. Some phrases got a limp, still got a lovely little kick. Pen skips, ink spits, beer drips on da page. Now "paid" looks like "laid"... Dat's mah favourite wage. "This is the way~" She's watchin' me, eyebrow up, bitin' back a smile. "Ya writin' about me?" Been doin' dat foh a while. "Better not be filthy." Babe, have ya MET me? You bought a rubber outfit and nearly fuckin' wrecked me. She laughs, I laugh, can't even hold da pen straight. Got a line about a silly deadline, but da line's already late. Dead line? Unalive? Design? Hmm... Nah, still breathin', still drinkin', still thinkin'. Still got mah beer, still got mah dear in mah shirt, still got her callin' me a bastard foh makin' her ass hurt. (in love, of course) Still got dat paddle she told me ta put away, still got her stealin' mah lager 'n' askin' when we're playin' again. She leans across, kisses me, steals a sip o' mah beer. Says, "Don't stay up all night." I say, "Come closer, then." Pen down. Can up. One last zip. ...Yeah. Dat sentence can wait. (HIGH-SCORE!) Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again!

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