Maybe the sophomore effort

Will be better

I'm a header with no head whatsoever

I endeavour

To be myself on tracks

Beat myself up to the beat on tracks

Just relax, young FYNCH

And let the soul unwind

But my mind is unforgiving and my soul's unkind

So I'll find

Some even keel to feel

No record deal

Purport an image on just keeping it real

On the scratcher

Going rasher on 1-88 quid

I'm matter of fact, mostly

I'm just taking the piss

Never answer

I'm a chancer, an insufferable git

Not named Chris, but add that 'T'

I'm a son of a bitch

On the classics like a Magnum

Creamy cool with the steel

Just joking

I'm a dreamer, got John Lennon appeal

Stream of consciousness, obnoxious

One fool of a man

Fooling no one but himself

An inescapable plan

To do the least amount of work

And gain all the plaudits

He's more water on the brain than New Orleans

The Jazz is going 90 and chap

He can feel the importance

It's implausible he'd stop

Until the mic is discorded

An awesome wave

Tessellation in your brain

Pure geometry

I'm merely classifying my philosophy

Subconsciously

Become myself again

'Cause when the day began

I was just plotting my demise

It's no surprise

That I can't acclimatise

There's a MIXVAPE-shaped noose

Around this windpipe of mine

But I'll be fine

As long as I can hold my head

And say 'so long' to those

Who fill that head with dread

'Cause they don't know their comments stay lodged inside there

So much so that now I've got issues with my bed

Instead

I whack the xannies out and conk out on the set

Refresh reality

And have delusions that I'm a sure bet

I wonder what odds you'd get...

I wonder what odds you'd get...