[Intro, spoken, dry delivery, natural Irish accent] People keep askin’ where I’m headed. Funny thing about that. Usually, I’m not entirely sure where I am. [Verse 1, conversational spoken rap, relaxed Irish cadence] Woke up late with a crease in me face, Two missed calls and a change of place. One boot clean, the other one wrecked, Can’t find me keys, but the rent’s due next. Got a loose-leaf plan and a half-dead phone, Three good mates and a mind of me own. Everyone’s talkin’ ‘bout a five-year scheme, I’m just tryin’ to work out what the hell they mean. Met a fella last week with a foolproof plan, Said he’d make a fortune, had a spreadsheet and a van. Saw him yesterday, same coat, same story, Now he’s sellin’ second-hand speakers in a car park instead I’m not sayin’ that I’m doin’ much better, I’ve made worse decisions with far less effort. Turn a small inconvenience to a complicated mess, Then act surprised when I’m cleanin’ up the rest. [Refrain, low spoken cadence, restrained delivery] No fixed address, no master plan, Just makin’ things work with whatever I have. Don’t need much, don’t ask for more, I’ve been thrown out of better places before. [Verse 2, tighter rhythmic spoken rap] See, I know a few things, but I know them badly, Talk a good game, then improvise gladly. Got a knack for the crack in a sensible plan, And a pocket full of receipts I don’t understand. I’ve slept in places that’d ruin your week, Had long conversations with people who speak Like they’ve solved the whole world over coffee, Then lose their car keys and blame the economy. And everyone’s rushin’ to get somewhere better, New front door, new job, new name on a letter. I’m not against it, if that’s what you need, I just don’t fancy bein’ owned by a postcode and a mortgage deed. There’s a strange kind of freedom in not knowin’ the route, Though it’s less romantic when the fuel’s runnin’ out. And the confidence fades when the weather turns bad, Then you ring up a mate as the only plan you have. [Refrain, subtle Celtic fiddle tucked beneath the trap beat] No fixed address, no master plan, Just makin’ things work with whatever I have. Don’t need much, don’t ask for more, I’ve been thrown out of better places before. [Verse 3, relaxed spoken rap, dry humor] Maybe one day I’ll get sensible, settle, Buy matching plates and a drawer full of metal Things you only use when something goes wrong, Then spend half me Sunday tryin’ to put them back on. Maybe I’ll get a place with a fence and a gate, Start sayin’ things like, I’m afraid it’s too late. Maybe I’ll own a plant that survives past June, Maybe I’ll learn not to leave quite so soon. But for now, there’s a road and a job somewhere, A half-decent jacket and some wind in me hair. And if the whole thing falls apart by eleven, I’ll be back makin’ plans by a quarter past seven. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Nothing stays fixed. You build something solid, then life gives it a twist. I’m not lost, exactly. That’s not quite right. I’m just not convinced that the map’s always right. [Outro, spoken, beat thinning out] Where am I headed? I’ll let ye know when I get there. Assumin’ I remember to charge the phone.
