Vincent's Tale - Self Portrait

Come on, let's have it you miserable prick

I will do what I want, I will drink 'til I'm sick

To my stomach, I'm sick of the same boring songs

I am sick of these pavements I find myself on

Great Britain, I hate you, I will say that with pride

It's my right to be violent when you fed me lies

I'm a rotter, a menace when I want to be

And I've worked for that right because nothing comes free

I have slaved all my life in a dull nine to five

I just rinse and repeat while I'm barely alive

Great Britain, I loathe you with murderous glee

I will do to this country what you've done to me

Destroy

I want to tear apart these buildings

From these cinder blocks they stand

Leave this town in dust and rubble

Make some trouble with my hands

I won't lie, I'm fucking wasted

But I wasted all my youth

And I stay so damn complacent, getting wasted is my truth

So my style of self-expression is a fist into the gut

It's throwing up upon these pavements

Shut your fucking mouth, you slut

Banished angel, I am Lucifer, my reign like Genghis Khan

Soon you will all know my name, I am the storm after the calm

I'm the victim of the victimless, the pill that makes you sick

I am chaos incarnate

Let's fucking have it then, you prick!

Now the rules of the street fight are simple

It's pretty much anything goes

Keep in the street, pretty firm on your feet

It pays to be sweet on your toes

And fools, they have fallen for clumsy mistakes

Late to react, cop the fist to the face

Now the rules at the street fight are simple

Break that little prick's nose

Throw a punch, he swallow it, follow it

Grab the collar, quick hollow tip like karate kick

Martial art master, spark a bitch

Park a fist on the landing strip

Carnage, it finds the cartilage

Karma served like a carbonated cola on a crucifix

Kill, Vincent wanna kill, who blood gets spilled

Double tap, rude boy, kill or be killed

Do it for the fun, blood, do it for the thrill

Blue lights, boy, run, blue lights, boy, chill

So it goes in the absence of the light

The devils sow a seed in idle minds

Vincent was shaken, run from the law

Hide from the bacon, crouch on the floor

The call to war made him hate the world, the world

Spits on him, rapes him, hits him, kicks him

When he's down and that shapes him

He hears the sound of a copper, hot up on his tail proper

Vincent off his rocker

Bothered by the lie that Britain sold him, what a shocker

Where greedy eat the poor, a holy war, the chosen prosper

But some are never chosen, they stay frozen in the locker

Destined to survive in nine to five and watch the clock, but

Don't think about reality, my little happy shopper

A brand-new show on Netflix to distract you from the horror

And swallow all your morals for a retweet or a follow

And shadow-ban the problem, man, a soul sold for a dollar

And keep the fight amongst yourself, don't think about the squalor

The systems that impose it, or the rules that we all honour

And fuck it, Vincent cooked to boiling point, he's cannon fodder

So what's the use in running, he's already in the locker?

He's careless with his actions now, a clumsy motherfucker

He turned to face his fate

'Cause fate's a bitch and none will stop her

Richard was an officer who stood at six foot three

Was his first day back at work after a time of absent leave

Working London on the night shift, what he didn't think he'd see

Was a boy with a guitar, bruised and battered on his knees

But Richard lived in caution now, tormented by his past

Not so quick to find a trigger, "Not so fast"

But Richard was a righteous man who lived inside the law

So he leapt upon poor Vincent and he cuffed him to the floor