george has gone and got on twitter. posting lyrics and the like. follow him thereabouts @georgeirwell
Got told to spit lingo
If I wanna win a Brit
And omit a hit single
I do my fing wiv no bling on
Kind of olive skin;
One of my kin born in Indo-nesia
Mind the flashing lights
My rhymes might induce a seizure
An’ not many late-comers to this craft
It’s gonna be hard graft Just to generate
some interest, now’s the time to invest
I’m coming into my own;
It’s like incest
While you’re pulling up your socks
We’ve got the full kit
To give a sermon from the pulpit
You can say “this is bullshit”
Better make a strong case
If you’re framing me as the culprit
These ain’t dulcet tones,
This is pitched so high
It reverberates your bones
Makes your skull split
Got told not to rap wiv out attitude
Can’t find my centre
There’s no longitude or latitude
If battered, bruised
Reaching out for a scrap of food,
Still look dapper in the gutter
It dunt matter dude
Self doubting narcissist, nihilist
So idle I’m riled by tiredness
This ain’t old school;
That’s why it’s on your iPod
And not the wireless
I’m too shy on this, where’s the shots?
Give me the wine list
A nice fit - anti-epileptic
No cassette, still in debt;
What I didn’t expect is success
Unless I pen empty threats
Or do my best to get sexist
This ain’t my real voice
We just dubbed it
Still get from A to Z by public means
I never say what I mean
I’m off the subject
Low budget lyrics with limited subtext
Ripe for a remix - dub step
Still ain’t seen my name
On the flyers for the club yet
Still on the periphery of the industry
Still left hanging on high 5s
With the hoodvets
Got told to rap like a cockerny
So that HMV wants to stock me
I’m picking up the accent by proxy
Less Chris Eccleston more Bob Hosky
Beat’s got me hot - flow frosty
Toh stirring up a revolution - Trotsky
You wanna book us both? Woah costly
Song needs a pop hook? No you’ve lost me
(to hear the rough recording go to: soundcloud.com/george-irwell/golden-leaves)
Old enuff to know better
Low cheddar, no show
Go getter in a chokehold
Flow cold, no sweater
Young enuff to still spit
Quill tip spills quips
Skill’s ill, Bill Hicks
Tills hit a mill, sick
george has been doing them ramblings into a microphone. have a listen or two…
The wall is coming down,
Sniper on the mound,
The type of atmosphere
That causes panic in a crowd.
The crackle of a gun,
The setting of the sun,
The dissident is disappeared;
A little battle won.
The guard has opened fire.
Pausing, looking down,
Thinking: “shit I’ve tripped the wire”
Another frozen nerve,
A last stolen word.
Not old enough to drink
And yet he’s old enough to serve.
They’ll miscount the vote…they’ll discount the hope
Disgrace the misplaced and shit down the rope.
Murdered on the march
Or hooded in the dark,
Feet and hands bound
Round shoulders in an arc.
One shared file,
One scared child;
Once pledged allegiance.
One square mile.
There’s a virus in the air,
Poison in your hair,
A time bomb on your neighbour,
A camera everywhere.
The wall has fallen down,
They’re tearing up the town
Laughing in your faces
As they burn it to the ground.
SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX
Not just the city of my birf
Not just tarred and sodden turf
A place of guile and craft and mirf
Each native knows what Salford’s worth
Hardened pigeons standin’ sentry
Subway lights that dare your entry
Under-loved for half a century
Guessed they’d reinvest eventually
Tea wiv two, a proper brew
The kids don’t rob you, coppers do
Home of the modern Dr. Who
We’re red round ‘ere we’re not for blue
The Lego quay, the defunct docks
The overbearing tower blocks
Tracky bottoms tucked in socks
Not chicken town just chicken pox
Where once a mill there’s now some flats
Takeout trays feed feral cats
There’s lots of lippy, witty brats
On Salford streets and that’s a fact
A Lidl stacked in every aisle
Chew the fat and spit the bile
They steal your shoes and run a mile
The shoes are odd, that’s Salford style
We invented kitchen-sink
As place to wash and way to think
We love the wet, the threat, the stink
And hate the fucking metrolink
That Worsley lot have got some brass:
Gangsters framed as middle class
Dean Whatsisname, the local grass
Cornered at the underpass
‘Ave a buzz, get a scran
Keep yer eye out, dibble van
Sack it off or sort it out
What’s this bell-end on about?
A taste of ‘uney, a smell of chips
A fag that’s clinging tight to lips
‘Orror, beauty, all betwixt
Sung baritone and drawn in sticks
Not just a place for waifs and serfs
Not scum, nor salt, nor fault of earth
Not just the base for industrial firsts
Each native knows what Salford’s worth
The handle bars and bike frame were mangled,
A man in tan sandals
Stands over a kid splayed out at a mad angle;
Wrapped in alloy and chrome –
People scramble to rubber neck,
Others amble past,
Damn the scamp and assert “he lost a gamble”…
And the dude in brown shoes,
Toes poking through,
Finds it confusin’,
He knows that from midday ‘til two he’d been boozin’
And gettin’ behind the wheel was a move of his own choosin’
People queue to get a view;
The kid ain’t movin’
Pretty soon all assume things are far from improvin’;
For the dude, the kid,
Or the group of bemused youths making YouTube vids
And taking grim pics of the victim’s blue bruisin’
The last bit of air gasps out of the skewed tubin’
And the ambulance crew muscles through –
“Who’s moved him?”
The man in open toes breaks down because he knows
That the route he chose – both metaphorically,
And literally the one he drove – were wrong,
And the image that lasts long is the kid’s face frozen
Hands out front, palms up in a fearful pose.
The man has blood trickling from his nose
And he wishes his soul was escaping from each nostril –
So all that was left in physical form was a hollow mould.
He feels his mouth fill with vomit,
As he catches sight of the scratches
And the droplets of blood atop his bonnet
His veins are pumped with adrenalin
His whole body’s tellin’ him:
"R U N"
(by George Irwell)
Cheryl Cole’s Britain’s Hardest Toilet Attendants: Down-to-earth pop ferret & Geordie mega-lass Cole traverses the nation unearthing and interviewing nightlife’s unsung heroes (and heroines); they break up fights, they start fights, they run rackets over their haul of illegitimate eau de toilettes - all in the confines of the toilets in the country’s craziest nightclubs.
Brain Harvey’s Plus Difficile WC Agents de France: As above. Only it’s Brian Harvey. In France.
Neighbours Remixed: This week, Harold Bishop contemplates retirement from the Queen Vic; Deidre Barlow finds another piece of Trevor Jordache under the new rose bed at the Woolpack; and there’s an investigation into who started the fire down at the grove.
'You're Sixteen, Now Here's Some Bad Stuff”: Coming of age film starring the kid from 'The Sixth Sense' (who hasn't done much recently) as an adolescent experiencing things for the first time and finding it kind of tough an' that. Then something really awful happens, like he sees a dead body, and it teaches him that he, like, does find his parents pretty cool after all. And that being shit at baseball isn't a big deal, and stuff. Ends in a climax with contemporary folk music and beaming sunshine and a totally cool girl.
'Precipicices': Bradley Cooper (obvs) plays Brad, a warehouseman on the edge…literally, who threatens to jump from an unsupported ladder almost eight feet up in this tense thriller. Ryan Gosling (totes) is Goz, the smooth talking maverick negotiator who tries to usher him down for fear of an impending accident following a breach of health and safety in the workplace regulations.
'The Fruit Seller': Gangster epic starring Bob Hoskins as the fruit seller of Finsbury Park; part-time purveyor of your five-a-day, part-time boss of north London's criminal underworld, who also happens to be terrible at coining a threatening analogy. Helen Mirren plays the local Waitrose manageress, a woman with a shady past who starts “peeling his onions.”
'Mad As Eggs': Ben Kingsley, Christopher Eccleston and Max Beesley star in this Northern kitchen-sink drama which follows three teenage Salfordians - who all look like famous adult actors from the Greater Manchester area - as they embark on a day of helping elderly people with their shopping, wearing slippers outside, putting hub caps onto cars at a garage, and enjoying poetry and good cooking.
Retaliation Later: A Book on Procrastination Pacifism
Pull Him Off: A Manager’s Guide to letting your striker know who’s boss
Noughtie Parenting: A new parenting psychology show presented by Jordan and Kerry Katona.
My Dad’s Bigger Than Your Dad: Reality show where petulant school kids whittle down their father’s patience to the point that they are happy to battle one another to the death in a neutral playground.
Yeah, Cool!: David Cameron stars as inspirational English teacher, Joyous Wright in ITV’s latest comedy drama. This week Joyous visits an orphanage with a copy of Oliver Twist and takes a crate of WKD to a youth outreach centre to explain where the word ‘wicked’ originates from.
'The Wooden': suspense movie with Keanu Reeves. You'll be guessing whodunnit right til the end thanks to Keanu's layered performance, which concludes with you being no closer to guessing whodunnit, even once the credits roll.
'We're Totally Stoned But Quite Endearing, Dude': slacker comedy with Seth Rogen and Kevin Smith. Two 'plant lovers' fall for the same girl, but in order to manipulate her, who can get sober for a day and pretend to have quit first?!
'Intensincide': Gore-no, a new mixture of gore and porno, gets it's mainstream debut in this grizzly horror starring Vincent Gallo, a broken marionette and 9 amputees.
'Power Block': Bruce Willis stars as a constipated, wisecracking ex-cop that no longer has a reliable enough digestive system to chase criminals. Instead he watches them get caught on television shows while monitoring his suspicious bowel movements.
Don’t Hate Yourself, Hate Them by Stan de Loan.
Far From The Maddening Crowd by Emily Bronski.
Hocus Poker, an autobiography by ‘Smiling’ Carl Hiemen.
My Life As A Rodent’s Mistress by Faria Alam
Suck My Johnson by Boris Johnson
Hurriedly pushed, I tripped on the step
Hurriedly ringing the bell
He swore as I stumbled
She opened the door
And of course by her face I could tell
Obviously angry, she bundled me in
Hopelessly fighting the tears
He swore as she told him
She’d waited all night
Her payback was now in arrears
Nervously flustered, she banished me out
Distractedly asking for tea
She swore as she told him
She thought he’d left town
Asking how cruel he could be
Truthfully frightened, I went from the room
Confusingly feeling ashamed
I cried as I wondered
If this was my fault
Passed the picture so peacefully framed
Silently stirring, I brewed up the tea
Silently listening in
All I could hear
Was the hum of their fury
Despite that the walls were so thin
Carefully balanced, I carried the mugs
Carefully ‘case they should spill
Past the shoes in the hall
Just the two pairs in all
There was mine and my Mum’s only still
Quietly shuffling, the door was ajar
Quietly blocking the noise
All I could see
As my head peeked on in
Was maliciousness there in his poise
Confusedly frozen, I stared at their shapes
Confusedly trying to yell
Horridly smacked, she bounced off the mantle
Horridly bloodied she fell