Wankerville

Welcome, 

To wankerville, 

The whitest place in town, 

If you have ever been anywhere 

You been here

So no need to stick around

Just observe 

A cacophony of knobs

Youth-y toffs

Boat shoes sailing the ground

a zoo of twats

Yoga mats,

backwards caps

Monkeys playing with rope

Stilletoed Girls who dance with little hope

And gilet wearing rugby lads

Chanting as they cling

To their blissful

Rapey cock soc days 

Trying to dull the sting 

Of council tax 

The unwelcome stack

Of bills

And chips upon their back

While they offer

AN unavoidable lack 

Of soul 

Or character, 

Legging clad husks

Popular when tweens

Never developing personalities,

Still trying to live the life 

They had at university

Lecturing those who disagree

And tubing up glistening twenties

And blow their new found salary

On confidence cut with antifreeze

On living the Neo liberal dream 

Shopping is morphine

All Bathing in listerine

Carte blanch your skin

In This unstoppable machine

A dynamo of dulling lights

Broken days and endless nights

A blazing inferno

With trainers sodden

And moving hands 

Upon the common

Upon the common themes 

 Of Armani jeans

White privilege blind

With craft beer 

And fine wine

That finds its place between two white lines

Those grapes of greed are tasteless

And lay to waste a former space 

A dripping cave 

A shallow pool of cunts

Of all a place 

That we could stay

This really is the runt

A shivering mutt,

Just,

Stuck,

in a rut.

Where nothing seems to happen

We know

Narcissus would call this home

But we would call it 

Clapham.