Double-0-KaBoom

My name is Fawkes- Jameson Fawkes— but you can call me- *Junkrat.* (Yeah, right then. Real smooth, mate.) (Let’s blow the bloody roof off—) Tick-tick boom in the ballroom light, brass kicks in, I’m mid-stage fright. Gilded grin, spin sin in the spotlight, steppin' on lines like they might ignite. Slick shoes, loose fuse, fake suit, true blues, dodgin’ class like I’m born to lose. Painted charm on a cracked veneer, I'm the kind of cool that swerves the steer. Knock knock—who’s there? Wrong guy, right place. Swagger like I’ve *never* been chased. One eye twitch, two steps wrong, but I got that funk and a pocket full o’ bombs. Velvet rope? Nah—I vaulted through, left charm at home, brought attitude. Click-click teeth and a detonator smile, I strut like jazz but I sting like bile. Shadow moves in a spotlight flicker, offbeat rhythm, fuse burns quicker. I ain’t here for the high-class scene— but I’ll toast your wine with kerosene. Watch your step when I tip my hat, it ain’t style—it’s where the sparks land at. They say “refined”—I say “refried,” classy chaos with a twitchin' side. Class dismissed—watch your shoes, love! Snap to the scene with a gleam in my grin— click-click, kaboom, I’m your gentleman sin. Slick with the trick shots, chaos couture, got my suit in a blast—call it *chic with detour*. Brass band in my brain and it's all in D minor, smooth like soot in a detonator diner. Swagger in stereo, switch in the flow, but I still got the strut when the rhythm says go. "Bond?" Nah—wrong flick, I’m the popcorn burn, spillin’ bars in sparks, watch the deadbolt turn. I’m a mess in a tux with a gold-tooth smirk, and a fuse in my shoe just for fireworks work. Tick, tick—stop. Can’t refine the swagger. Lines whir fast when the tremors shatter. I was smooth, I was sharp, I was fiction in flame, now the drip down the suit’s got me callin' my name. Thought I had charm in a bottle of bang, but the echo talks back when the sirens sang. Dapper? Maybe. Dangerous? Sure. But even the grin ain’t grin-proof no more. Shake hands with the man in a mask and a mine, call it class when the chaos still lands on time. I walk like a lie dressed in velvet and smoke, but the punchline hits when the fuse gets choked. Dance floor scorched in a tailored collapse, I toast to the end with a flask full of traps. One part rogue, two parts unhinged— I’m a symphony of misfire and brass-tinged fringe. My name… is Fawkes. Jamison Fawkes. (But you already knew that.) …Right?