Gr8 Mile

We all wrote raps when we were younger. I'm sure you remember the first time you spat some rhymes over a tasty, tasty beat.

Your first rap is like your first time riding a bike without stabilisers, or the first time you get a police caution at the zoo.

It's almost become a bit of a cliché. Romantic notions of rapping are so deeply woven into the concept of childhood, it's difficult to separate them. We all remember Lewis Carroll writing the famous Walrus freestyle scene in Alice in Wonderland. And how many of us were captivated by Enid Blyton's Five Go to Long Beach?

I thought I'd share my first rap with you. It will show you who I was then, and it may also provide clues about the person I have come to be.

The fact that I can remember this at all shows what an important creation it was. Mozart was producing genius from an early age. Of course, I'm not Mozart. But you can see why I make the connection.

I thought about recording this rap to post here, but I think it might be better to just see the words written down. They speak of adolescent soul-searching, a yearning for emotional connection, and have such subtly and delicacy of touch that it's almost heartbreaking.

You may notice that I've gone for 12 bars, rather than the customary 16. I don't completely remember, but I'm sure this was a stylistic choice.

We can look at this in detail later. Keep in mind, this is a genuine, unaltered rap, which I wrote when I was about fourteen.

Everybody, everywhere, you'd better beware
'Cause P-Funk is in the house and I've got lyrical flair
Concede sweet defeat to the emphatic fanatic
My simplistic realistic linguistics are enigmatic

I just keep on getting faster, I'm perpetual motion
As deep as the ocean with devoted emotion
Turning sour into sweet and sweet into sour
Burning up the mic at five thousand miles an hour

You can go straight to hell if you ain't down with the Funk
'Cause one verbal assault and your battleship's sunk
Don't think that I'm one of them wannabe gangsta boys
It's just that hip hop is my playground and my lyrics are toys.

I'll give you a moment to appreciate this. Drink it in. It's like a fine wine: explore the flavours, probe the complex construction.

Pretty special, I think you'll agree.

Let's take a closer look.

Everybody, everywhere, you'd better beware

Immediately, I announce my intentions. And they are aggressive. I'm warning people - and not just people: everybody. Everywhere. No-one is safe from what's to come. I'm obviously a global threat.

'Cause P-Funk is in the house and I've got lyrical flair

P-Funk was my nickname at school. It started because my drama teacher called me Funk instead of Fung (and did the same to my sister before me). And, as my first name begins with a 'P', I became known as P-Funk. By some people.

About half of my friends called me P-Funk (possibly with irony), and the others obviously thought this was stupid. They were correct. I didn't call myself P-Funk, except in raps, on pencil case graffiti and on Youtube. But never in job interviews.

Rarely in job interviews.

Anyway, I'm 'in the house' (true - when I wrote this, I imagine I was in a house), and have 'lyrical flair', which is already abundantly clear. This is why you should beware.

Concede sweet defeat to the emphatic fanatic

Great line. The emphatic fanatic is good (although not particularly appropriate for me). You can concede defeat, and it will be sweet because you get to listen to my sick flow.

My simplistic realistic linguistics are enigmatic

Here's where things fall apart a bit. I'm clearly relishing the rhyme, but my accuracy isn't too good. My lyrics aren't simplistic (they're highly advanced), they're reasonably realistic (it's difficult to find a rhyme for 'unicorn') and whilst they may be enigmatic, this quality contradicts attributes A (simplistic) and B (realistic).

I've become so enigmatic that I'm contradicting myself. Which I suppose is an achievement in itself.

Unicorn, unicorn... Hmm... what about 'uniform'? [Your talents are nonexistent, like a unicorn / When you get dressed, lookin' stupid is your uniform] YES! I'VE STILL GOT IT!

I just keep on getting faster, I'm perpetual motion

I've let myself down here, possibly from misunderstanding a joke from The Simpsons. Perpetual motion is fine (in an abstract, hip hop way), but I can't also be getting faster. I wouldn't be in time with the beat.

As deep as the ocean with devoted emotion

You need arrogance to be a good MC. I would say that claiming to be as 'deep as the ocean' might have been slightly ambitious. I don't really know what 'devoted emotion' is, but I'm sure it was inflamed by puberty.

Turning sour into sweet and sweet into sour

This is a nice, meaningless bit of contrarian rhetoric. I could do those things. I take what you don't like and make it palatable. I take what you do like and expose its flaws. I do do that.

Burning up the mic at five thousand miles an hour

I never timed myself, but I imagine this is correct. I'm older now, so may be down to 4000mph.

You can go straight to hell if you ain't down with the Funk

The use of 'ain't' seems a bit forced. I'd never say 'ain't'. At least I was leaving the option there. You can go straight to hell. But you don't have to.

'Cause one verbal assault and your battleship's sunk

Come on, that's a good line, man.

Don't think that I'm one of them wannabe gangsta boys

The delivery makes this line: "one of them, wannabe". You need to hit that right, or it's all for nothing.

It's just that hip hop is my playground and my lyrics are toys.

BOOM! Eat that! Pick that out of... your.... face. You just got SERVED.

I had real talent. I still do, but I've moved on.

I wonder if I should have used my gift. I could have been The Streets or Bubba Sparxxx.

But I think my destiny has led me in a different direction. The lyrical flair is still there, but the burden of being as deep as the ocean weighed to greatly on my shoulders.

***

Welcome to the latest edition of Twat Twas Tweet Twas, where you get to catch up on all the hilarity you might have missed if you don't follow me on Twitter, or just don't really care that much.

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I'm wearing my 1.5-D monocle.

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Just shook my magic 8-ball and it said "YOU WILL WASTE YOUR AFTERNOON WATCHING 'DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS'". Spooky.

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I don't put the clocks forward, I put IDEAS forward.

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Every now and then I reach deep down into my soul, and regret not putting on rubber gloves.

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I'm joining a new anti-shopping trolley campaign group. It's called 'Hold Everything!'

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You haven't lived until you've pushed a drunk juggler into a cathedral.

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No-one ever describes something as a marginal shambles.

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Last night I dreamt that one of my work appraisal objectives was "I HATE LIARS". That's not an objective. It's not even the right tense.

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Asap's Fables need to be read immediately.

That was Lucy's joke. But she's not on Twitter. So I have to channel her genius like a glib Whoopi Goldberg.

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As a kid, I dressed like a superhero. I wore a towel as a cape, fastened with a safety pin. It wasn't glamourous, but the job needed doing.

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Hey, here's something that might cheer you up: SELF-DELUSION.

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What does a 2D farmer wear? A flat cap. #taptapisthisthingon?

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You're only as old as you smell.

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If using the expression "If BLANK is wrong, I don't want to be right" is wrong, I don't want to be BLANK.

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I managed to blag my way into a Freud convention with a fake id.

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By the time you read this, I will have had a confusing dream about you.

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Having a recurring dream should also be known as nightjà vu.

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I DON'T like to use reverse ygolohcysp.

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We have new windows! With little window keys, so no-one can STEAL THE OUTSIDE.

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Right now, I'm sitting next to a skyscraper of comics and graphic novels. It's like a monument to social ineptitude.

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I like to stand my apple-cores up, so they retain some semblance of regal, skeletal dignity.

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Part of me thinks

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Lucy just said: "I like people's mates being called Leon".

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That's more than enough.

Good day to you.