Aye, Batty Man, you try to speak like they do, use fucking fancy words, thine and dine and even drink fucking wine, not even the …. fuckers talk like this. We drink the hard stuff, Red Stripe, Tennents and Special Brew. You are no …. because — shit — you do not speak like we do.
You eat fancy shit like pasta. We like our yam: white on the inside brown on the outside. You want to be like them wearing a fancy suit (the …. with the briefcase in his hands that is going no fucking nowhere.
Uni boy, they will pin you to the wall…batty boy. You will be the fucking idiot: the Uncle Tom. See, they say you should be on a government training scheme. Now you are contemplating suicide. See the …. in the room…just another broom.
See there you go again: sweeping the floor with your tongue. Their words in your head screams and shatters dreams. Broken illusions, the doors open, the spotlight shines on you, but you are no fucking star. You are just an attraction, the …. in a suit. They want to twist the knife in your open wound, until you turn blue.
And, you want to write fucking poetry, you …queer, you are definitely no black man: batty boy. You snow queen, bounty bar, coconut, you are not one of us, you are not a real man.