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.