Entry 3 is a homage to two of my favourite artists on Suno. Nate Dance (@natedance) and DJ Billo (@metavaultrecords) I can't create a rap nearly as good as these two, but had fun with this one. ----------------------- [Intro, spoken, no beat initially, just ambient city noise] Safe, butt. You know, they keep talking about "Leveling Up" on the telly? I look around Pill and the only thing leveling up is our cost of living. Listen... [Hook, sung to the tune of "I Love You Baby", sung clean, Sinatra Style] Let's go somewhere We have never been Let's go somewhere We'll never go again Let's do something Let's step off of the road And go somewhere Only love knows [Verse 1, spoken UK drill rapper] I’m telling you, the landlord’s a ghost, haven't seen his face since we signed the lease Meanwhile the plasterboard is turning mush, crumbling down piece by sodden piece. My missus is eight months gone, belly swollen like the damp in the wall Trying to sleep while the roof pisses down, turning the bedroom to a waterfall. We got a bucket in the middle of the room, splash-back hitting the sheets She’s waddling round it in the dark, swollen ankles and freezing feet. Boiler packed in two weeks ago, and you know the council’s pace is slow So I’m boiling pans on the stove just to get the baby bottle flow. Gas ring hissing, burning through the meter, that price cap is a noose Choose between the heating or the eating? That’s the pattern of the abuse. Government says "tighten your belt," but I’m running out of holes to punch While we eat Tesco Value beans cold because we can’t afford the gas for lunch. A two-grand bill landing on the mat like a grenade with the pin pulled out And the landlord finally texts back: "I'll sort it... now in a minute," no doubt. [Hook, sung clean again] Let's go somewhere We have never been Let's go somewhere We'll never go again Let's do something Let's step off of the road And go somewhere Only love knows [Verse 2, spoken word UK grime rapper] You look out the window, front row seats to the decay of the nation Used to be a church across the road, holy ground, firm foundation Now it’s council flats, carved up cheap, where the desperate get placed And the working girls work the curb right where the vicar used to say grace Open commerce in the daylight, flashing blue lights every other week Police roll by slow, take a look, but they never stop to speak It’s just scenery to them, innit? Just another night in the 'Port Until the flat down the road started leaking water of a different sort Flooding out the front door, gallons spilling onto the pavement cracks Turns out the whole block was a farm, high-grade green in stacks They only got busted 'cause the plumbing failed, not 'cause the coppers care Sprinklers wouldn't shut off, drowning the crop, thick skunk heavy in the air. And through all of this shite, the council sends a letter, bold as brass 'Extra charge for the green bin,' another tax on the working class Service goes down, price goes up, mathematics of the decline While we watch the flashing lights reflect in the puddle of the church shrine. [Verse 3, spoken word UK grime rapper] But the commute is the killer, mate, that’s the time that steals your soul Two hours on the Stagecoach, rattling bones over every pothole It’s a thirty-minute drive by car, but the tank is empty, insurance too high So I sit on the top deck, watching the grey Welsh landscape roll on by Just to get to a job that barely puts the food inside the cupboard door Coming home shattered, knowing tomorrow I gotta do it all once more. Walking through the door at 7, just to start the night shift with the kid 3 AM, she won’t settle, screaming murder every time she hits the crib. So I’m pacing the living room floor, holding her tight to my chest Under that dusty fake chandelier—plastic crystals, looking depressed It’s the only light she likes, staring up at that cheap imitation glass While I pray she never understands that her daddy is losing his grasp I swallowed my pride last Tuesday, walked into the food bank line Handed a bag of tinned veg and grains, feeling like I’d committed a crime Working forty hours a week to beg for carrots in a dented can Is this what they meant by the future? Is this the measure of a man? [Final Hook, sung, but twisted/sarcastic delivery, call and response from male rapper] Let's go somewhere... (Nah, we ain't going nowhere.) We have never been... (We're exactly where we've always been.) Let's do something... (Can't afford to do nothing.) Let's step off of the road... (And sink in the mud.) And go somewhere... (Back to the start.) Only love knows... (And even love is charging interest.) [Outro, spoken word] Newport, mind. Pillgwenelly state of mind. Tinned peaches and leaks in the roof. Safe.
