Punk Poetry Double Shot  #3 - TV Licance To Kill/MTV Generation

TV licence To Kill/ MTV Generation By Marcus Cooke and Tom Quinton
 
Act One - Tv Licance To Kill By Marcus Cooke

I just paid for
a tv licance to kill
it was exciting
it wasnt a thrill
£1.45.45 left a horrid taste
in my throat
and a string off disgisting words
to horrid to quote.
Nearly £150 quid to watch
cash in the attic
as i sink in to the arm chair
you can tell my face was ecstatic.
A BBC ident fills the screen
i piss my pants and want to scream
roots sprout from my fingertips
and start to grow
i become mesmerised
by the coloured jumpers
on the bloody one show.
Im not going out
ive got a tv licance to kill
im trapped watching 24 hours of ITV2
24 hours of big brother and T4
I rather eat my asshole
and juggle my own balls.
My ball sack
has become stuck to the sofa
like mouldy bubblegum
under a seat of a bus,
im on her majestys secret service
and a itchy trigger finger
squirting puss.

Reality TV makes my head exsplode
In act of devistation
the telly lands in the road
but the TV gets its own back
in its own act of retaliation
in this short tale of
pain and stark relization.
Staying up late watching
television X and babestation
covered in pena-calalda
with lightly toasted spunk flakes
stuck to my bum
when i relalize for the last 6 weeks
..Ive been watching my mum!!!

I wasnt going out
i had the a TV licance to kill
Watching this ballshit takes real skill
the television teletexts the final score
TV 1
Marcus nil!!


Act 2 - "MTV Generation"  By Tom Quinton
 
Wake up MTV Generation
A lifetime of separation
Hypnotic fluorescent TV screens
The stench of corruption, behind the scenes
With pretty boys, and Hollywood smiles
Diamonds, Gold chains, Gangster styles
Melodies and beats,that all sound the same
Originality and passion goes down the drain
My ears start to bleed, There murdering a classic
With the king of bling, printed on his jacket
An end of an era, a million records sold
Gucci, Prada, His teeth are made of gold
Marching to a beat,To the  drum of the undead
Rising from their graves,like a bad dream in your head
Whatever happened to music played for fun?
Not manufactured for a nice tidy sum
 
Wake up MTV Generation
A life time of separation.
 
He's the man with the piercing eyes
Shaped like a barrel,  
With doner kebab thighs
He's back in the crease,  
and looking for love
Ribbed for her pleasure,  
and fits like a glove
He sold his soul to play Rock N Roll
Plays guitar like a cheese grater,  
and gueues for the dole
He dresses in black, Like Johnny Cash
Spends hours grooming his merkin moustache
He busks on the pavement, to make a few bob
His music is Rancid like a diseased nob
He shelters himself from the spell binding sun
He puts down his weapon, his job almost done
The last time I saw him, He had a tear in his eye
He's a folklore, A legend which will never die,
 
So wake up MTV generation
A life time of separation.