The other day I ran a competition here on the blogs, more in
hope than in any real expectation that anyone would be stupid enough to go on
for it. After all, who would be stupid
enough, apart from me, to write a rap song about parsnips?
Andy Roberts, that’s who.
I’ve known Andy for very nearly twenty years; I have
published his books, I have been the subject of his scurrilous writings and
over that time we not only remained friends but have spend an enormous amount
of time recommending obscure hippy music to each other. So I am kicking myself for not having
predicted that this peculiar Yorkshireman would have been the winner of my
stupidly tongue-in-cheek competition….
Buttered
Parsnip Rap
I’m
chillin’ down the veg store, gonna get me my grits
When
the dude at the till says blood, check out the parsnips
I say
wha? I Say wha? I Say wha? like a cliché
Cos
blood, like, you know, parsnips don’t go in no quiche (hey!)
Dude
says cool it, blood, with the ill behaviour
Y’all
ain’t tried nuthin’ til you’ve tasted their flavour
This
jam is dedicated to those who said we couldn’t
And to
those in the house who simply thought we couldn’t
Find a
rhyme, find the time, catch the serendips
To get
a nigga to utter fine words butter no parsnips
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1 comment:
Where's my prize then! I think I sent you an updated version that scanned better. Nice to see we can still use the N word and not have the PC brigade hounding us!
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