Many years ago, a few ‘young fellas’ asked me if I did not do RAP, as well as ‘ordinary’ poems. It took me a while, but here goes! A sort of rural, agricultural version.


Now I’ve bin known for quite some time,
For writing lousy jokes in rhyme,
But the kids these days don’t dig that crap
To reach the young, you gotta RAP!
I must admit, rap never quite me,
I useta think it was missing a ‘C’!!

Now you may think that I’m old and slow,
But I’ll turn my cap round, and give it a go!
And no more Jimmy Rafferty, OK?
From here on, I’m S.F. Kool J.
And there ain’t no politics in that
The S F stands for SHORT and FAT!

Now I was reared on a tiny little farm,
Back in the day when we meant no harm
Kids back then were simple and plain
We all jest wanted to be John Wayne!
I’d a cowboy hat and a little sixgun
And I rode around a lot, slappin’ m’bum
The hens and the ducks all knew me well,
And when I ‘bust a cap’ they’d run like hell.
I never got dissed by none of dat brood
I was the meanest mo’fo’ in ma ‘hood!

I had a female dog, whose name was ‘Witch’
When she misbehaved, I useta ‘smack ma bitch’
I’d mosey on down to the old corral,
And herd the cow into her milking stall.
Ma Paw had a bucket, and down he’d sit
While I had to clear away the . . .Manure

When I grew up, which was not too far
I wanted to be a Country Star
But I couldn’t sing, or play da banjo,
My voice was like a hoarse old crow
When I tried to dance they all made a fuss
I looked like a drunken octopus
I couldn’t have carried a tune in a bucket
M’Da was a singer, and he just said ‘Rubbish’!

Still, I thought that I could do just fine
Bob Dylan’s voice was worse than mine!
So I took to writing in my spare time
And telling tales and stuff in rhyme
But so far I ain’t no millionaire
I couldn’t even hold on to ma hair
So I learned the patter, and how to look mean
The toughest dude on the rural scene
I can talk the talk, and walk the line,
If things behave, we get along fine

The kids got lambs from a nearby farm
So cute and woolly and cuddly and warm
I spent my days trying to pen them in
With posts and wire and bits of tin
I told them – don’t go making me cross
You’d look even better with some mint sauce!

We got a pet pig – just the one, now mind,
Of the black and wrinkled Vietnam kind
The kids call him Denny, but he don’t know
Denny is the factory where the porkers go!
Feeding him costs three or four quid a week
So he might find out, pretty damn quick!

There’s a farm nearby with hens and a duck
For them I do not care one . . . damn
The rooster wakes me up each dawn
I think I’ll offer him some corn
Invite him round for a morning brunch
Don’t mention that he might be lunch!

The cows next door will Moo at dawn
They eye the nice grass on my lawn
They gimme looks that ain’t so great
They def-a-cate beside ma gate
I shout ‘begone, you ton of stew
I’ll take no shit from the likes of you!’
Dem mo’fo’s disses me no more
I know the moves and I know the score
I’ll draw myself up to full height,
And drive ma boot right up . . . as high as it’ll reach

So I’ll get ma coat, and be on ma way
And pay no mind to what you say
So if you should claim my rap’s inferior
I’m gonna bust a cap in yo’ POSTERIOR