- by Owen Morton
Okay, before I start, there’s a couple of things I wish to explain. Firstly, I’m well aware that this does not measure up to the usual standard of things on this website (yes, it really is that bad). It’s only going up because someone asked me to put it up (the same person, in fact, as the one who expressed an interest in how ice-cream technology might be abused). And I would also like to make it clear that I’m not generally in the habit of writing raps about anything, especially considering my own opinion of raps as the eighth Deadly Sin. Well, perhaps the ninth, after Nazism, fascism in general, communist revolutions that go wrong (I refer to Stalin here), Thatcherism, New Labour, a whole host of other political systems which don’t work, quite a lot of the political systems that do work, sweatshop labour, big corporations, mushrooms, hip-hop music, Christianity, etc. I could continue, but you get the idea. I dislike rap music intensely, but not quite as intensely as lots of other things.
Perhaps I should therefore explain why I felt inspired to write a rap about Nottingham. Well, on 31st October this year I visited Nottingham from York, and being inclined to see all my friends in the Business Library again, I popped in. While there, I happened to notice a bright orange piece of paper which boasted in big letters, “YOUR CHANCE TO BE A RAP STAR!” This sounded interesting. I read on. It appeared that it was a competition: contestants had to write a rap about life in Nottingham, and could win the opportunity to record the rap themselves, “with professional backing added later”.
Well, quite frankly, I’d have preferred it was pretty much any musical thing other than rap, but still I felt that I would enter the competition. Since the competition was aimed primarily at schoolchildren (I deduced this from the way in which the entry form offered two separate categories: under 13’s and over 14’s), I realised the judges would undoubtedly receive an awful lot of rubbish, and be obliged to read it all. I decided that I’d give them a bit of a laugh, or attempt to, by submitting a rap which I was pretty much certain wouldn’t win (though if it did, I’d be very pleased).
I started writing the rap one evening in November – according to my diary, Friday 8th November – and originally intended it to be just deliberately silly. The first few verses are intended to make not particularly much sense; they’re just strung together because the words rhyme. I also disregarded the necessity for actually having a beat in this rap, deciding that in the unlikely event of winning, I could make up the beat there and then. The result is an interestingly structured piece of work without any form of rhythm. In my attempts to annoy all my housemates – particularly Seb – I decided to make the rap eventually evolve into a communist rant, still using stupid rhyming devices.
Last weekend, I returned home again and proudly handed my rap in. Unfortunately, one of the staff – the person mentioned earlier, who is still going unnamed because she’d probably prefer it – missed the opportunity to read it, so she asked me to put it up here. And here you have it. I’m not particularly proud of it, but it did keep me entertained for a good hour while I wrote it.
Chorus:
And everything that’s so very good.
My life there is all I live for;
It’s better to break your leg than your jaw.
Verse 1:
No particular reason why I shouldn’t.
With hard cash I can buy a bunny,
Even though I probably wouldn’t.
Verse 2:
Food is available that’s fit for kings.
The shops are rivalled only by London,
And it’s really not that hard to steal an onion.
Chorus:
And everything that’s so very good.
Once you go there, you’ll never get out,
Unless you’re half-man, half-trout.
Verse 3:
Once you could count on charity there.
But its former vitality has faded away:
Everyone knows generosity doesn’t pay.
Verse 4:
Your first impression will be the same.
There’s a dividing line between rich and poor;
It’s been so for ever and will be for evermore.
Chorus:
And everything that’s so very good.
The majestic city, land of the free,
Foolishly disregarding the words of Trotsky.
Verse 5:
Determined ever to keep us down.
They keep making more but it’s never enough;
They collect cash till they choke on the stuff.
Verse 6:
Stand tall and proudly displayed.
Making ever more is the first and only priority,
While the lowly worker is oppressed and dismayed.
Chorus:
And everything that’s so very good.
But Robin’s descendants are more like the Sheriff’s men,
And the exploitation continues as it did back then.
As I say, I’m not proud of it.