Who's this? Another rapper with a messiah complex 
Thinking when I write a concept, it stops the nonsense 
But God chuckles, so I let go

Playing African drums in the carpark of Tesco

My heart is vast and growing- it beats in paradiddles 
casting poems out through the drab and the drizzle 

that drives down, and penetrates the shoppers' coats- 
one office bloke gives me a look like 
"you can't stop this bro"...

But I can bang a drum until my hands fall apart

and if it makes one shopper dance, 
that's my calling answered. 

My reason for playing the evening til the morning after 
Carry my flame like stigmata through the falling darkness 
and the rising light- I hit the goatskin 

The nature of sound means it always finds an opening. 
This time, I'm hoping it might find your lugholes 

And if it does, I'll flood your subconscious with a drumroll... 



That's the movement, what? 
The movement

None of your rulers can stop the movement 

Because it moves in the veins of the movers

Their brains and their boots
and the strains of their music...



('this is your time... Bomb Tesco') 



That's my primal ish, son 

my tribal rhythm bounces 
somewhat manically in the cavity of your sinuses

in order to fill your mind with this ethereal medicine- 

you might just find yourself beatboxing in the cereal section

Or tapping 4/4 beats on tins of corned beef

Or slapping a solo on a slab of mature cheese

the manager's called Steve, 

and he comes over to chat to you

Saying, "please do not practice drum patterns 
on cans of tuna

It's very distracting to the consumer"

...but in mid-opus, Steve freezes 
and his eyes switch focus.

He grabs a pack of Kit-E-Kat and starts to shake a latin rhythm with it.

and the shelf-stacker, Dave, is rapping bits of lyrics 
... he's very gifted.
And within a minute 
Delores from storage has chipped in with a sung chorus 
in Zulu.
They never knew she could do that, it's hard to believe 
Steve is beating the bass on 2 vats of margarine

and Dawn, from customer services, is busting verses 
over the P.A,
and Gary 
who has a nervous twitch, and a weak brain

is stamping out the hardest beats on the counter of the pharmacy

Scattering paracetamol rather anarchically...

Before long, the whole supermarket's deep with raw song 
Somebody's even found some frozen cod they can play chords on.

Four long hours later, you step out in the fading light

with a new perception of space and time.

In the carpark, a strange guy is playing a djembe...

what a weird way to waste a Wednesday. 




That's the movement, what? 
The movement 
None of your rulers can stop the movement 
Because it moves in the veins of the movers 
Their brains and their boots and the strains of their music...