Try Hard

I’ve got bright pink hair and pristine Doc Martins,

Sitting in the park, necking dry blackthorn,

I bunk off from school, act like I’m hard,

Score a sixteenth down the Kilburn High Road,

I listen to punk music and will swear at anybody,

Once I even wrecked someone’s property.

I am a mixed up kid, from a broken home,

I don’t mean any real harm,

I’ve felt different from a tender age,

Can’t contain my sadness and rage,

But I’m not very good at this anarchy lark,

cos deep deep down, I just want to be liked.

I worry old ladies, attract dirty old men

Get it all the time “you go to art college then?”

I smoke on the bus and I’m a terrible thief,

Gatecrashing parties on Hampstead Heath,

I loiter on the underground, I’m an accomplished liar,

I even tried to start a small fire.

I’ve been called a lot of things and if the cap fits,

All this crazy shit, my hearts not really in it.

I really love my cats and sing into my brush

If I was offered a way out, I’d take it like a flash,

I hope my mum, never finds out she’ll create a scene,

What a sorry state to be in at only fourteen.

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