Daddy's Girl Poem by Blackie Brown

Have you not been to Northampton?
This is how we all speak.
Not putting up with your cheek,
Your ideologies weak,
Fancy words that you speak,
Must be one of those overly thought out freaks.

Parents are from a council estate, daddy worked for what he made.
All your chat of not working and that,
Makes me wanna eat mummy's special hat.
The one she wears for the races,
Demonstrating social graces,
Stinking heavily of perfume,
Smiling falsely about the room.
So don't you dare to judge me,
I'm sat alongside a commoner aren't I?
Doesn't that display ones versatiliity, got you!

Oi, box your posh voice away,
I've got plenty to say,
Much as i'd like you're not going away.
Bad enough that she brought you,
Now i've got to suffer you,
Your inability to engage with humour,
Feel I can see straight through you.

So everyone round there chats like that?
Is that so, well fancy that,
And fancy you and your fancy tones,
You're so hard done by in your council home, i'm sure.
Though, before you leave as you came before,
With your horsey face and penchant to bore,
Feel I ought to tell you what I seen when I saw.

Its time to stop dining out on your father's past vocation,
The idea he was once subserviant to the nation,
That you grew up on a rough estate,
Though you made it, hey, its never too late.
Coz this came long before you were born,
Into your country cottage with your stylized lawn,
Don't even know why i'm bothering,
Just looking at you makes me yawn.

So you wear your accent as compensation,
You oppose those with idealisations.
Inspite of the fact that you were 'brought up the hard way',
Well, why would that make you dispassionate for the things I have to say?
You don't know your backside from your elbow,
Can't even perceive depth in conversation,
As you sit thinking 'bout the pub quiz,
No drink in sight, let's get down to biz,
Lets talk nonsensically of potential answers,
Of questions we've already filled in.
You continue to yarn away,
I feel my conscious mind drifting away.
Is it just me, or can anyone else be bothered with owt that she's got to say?
People with minds as closed as yours are plain dull,
As you sit alongside your authentic mate, the pitbull.
The one who speaks too loud and waves her hand in my face,
An effort to subdue, no social grace.
Concept's just a word to you, it means nothing,
Fear i'd need a jack to elevate your mind above that which currently serves you.
But shame on me for caring, you're definately not one for sharing,
Your limitations are overbearing, all around us people glaring.
So lets just leave it here, gonna get back to my beer,
Jug of Speights seems riveting alongside you m'dear.