This is not a bodge job or hodgepodge with masking tape, some off-cuts
This is whole-hog, this is nine yards by an old fart that just let off
There were wrong turns and wrong urges, energies ended up as embers
There were unfocused vocals that lacked potent measures
There were half written, dog bitten, scraps on backs of napkins
There are voice notes on my old phones broken sat in landfills
There were young pups that rose up while rhymes lay in a printer
This was well jell, well worn, scornful as they got bigger
There were false starts and put offs till I couldn’t look in the mirror
There was sod this, I’ve got this, a gob to be a spitter
This is full throttle, takes full bottle not to dislodge momentum
This is flat-oot with me balls oot before grey hairs start to scare ya.
This is outpour, this is off chest, box of confessional tit-bits
This is not the time to check the time, twiddle thumbs or regress
This is late starter, late bloomer, no restraint if I came sooner
This is gen x from the rave sesh, so why you call me boomer?


Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!
Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!


This is not a half-arsed, hobby horse that I can’t be fucked to saddle-up
This is thoroughbred, run-ahead, left in the dust, those catching up
This is peel back, reveal that skin retracted with no redactions
This isn’t cack-handed, mislanded like I fell back and stood in cat shit
These fine lines and waist line say I’ve been aging like fine wine
These nose hairs grow wild but I trim lines so they flow right
These crows feet have flown trees, seen things in perspective
These old bones moan in monotone but can pitch things up an octave
There was out of time out of breath open mics with broken vibes
There were forgotten words, forgot a verse, red faced and severed verbs
There's been kyboshed write-offs abandoned plans that didn’t happen
There's been chat shit, I’m doing this, lots of blabbing not much action
This is re-edit, repurpose not rehashing those bad habits
This re-cording is rewarding, I can ill afford to be crap at it
This is rehearsed not reversed not polishing a turd for my inner circle
This is relaunch, reopen, show my personal is universal.


Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!
Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!


This is not a passing whim, done willy nilly not gassing on nor dilly dally
This is mash-up not mish-mash, flavors mixed like plates of thali
This isn’t loosey goosey, produced poorly, Figarate tunes are rather hearty
This is brace brace, up in your face, wait edge of seat for grand finale
This isn’t half empty, it’s half full, got plenty more bars I can gargle
This is overcome not overrun or run and hide like last debacle
There were mic-blags as a young lad, didn’t deserve a turn hadn’t earned that
There was blah-blah, claptrap, rapping things that hadn’t happened.
There was listen here, right near, Mc’ing in ears for forced approval
There were colabs I romanced; played so little to contribution
This is new error, way better, best get to it before I get dementia
This is skin sag, chin flab best grab that mic before I cash a pension
This is tying nooses on old excuses, writing life inspiring blueprints
This is flowing juices not blowing fuses, spark my truth set to music
This is last saloon for an old crooner, I’m anyones Fry call me Bueller
This is my last stages at Last Vegas, I’ll belt one out now like a trooper.

Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!
Hey Granddad stand back from the mic stand
Hey Granddad stand back, fuck that!