Rapping whilst relieving yourself.

I'm on your arse like panty-liners,
bustin' rhymes like black bin-liners.
Full of shit that no-one wants,
but chatting funny like Comic Sans fonts.

I'm the geekiest rapper this side of CeX,
and I don't drink beer, nah, I don't like Becks.
You can buy me a breezer,
give us a WKD.
You look taken aback, bruv,
but don't blame me.

My tastes are refined,
like oil in Iraq.
And I'm getting political,
I feel like Barrack.
Except I can't shoot hoops,
not like when he won the election.
And I've gotta be honest,
I've a poor sense of direction.

I'm scoring for the wrong team,
gotta have another dream.
Daddy told me acting's gay,
Mummy tried to make my day.
"It's alright to wear mascara!"
Dad threatened to dump me in the Sahara.
I'm lyrically confused like you wouldn't believe.
My Sims just died, so now I'm feelin' bereaved.

PEACE.