Pity the Plight - Plan B, John Cooper Clarke

Pity the fates of young fellows

Too long in bed with no sleep

With their complex romantic attachments

All look on their sorrows and weep

They don’t get a moment’s reflection

There’s always a crowd in their eye

Pity the plight of young fellows

Regard all their worries and cry

Their Christian mothers were lazy perhaps

Leaving it up to the school

Where the moral perspective is hazy perhaps

And the climate oppressively cruel

Give me one acre of cellos

Pitched at some distant regret

Pity the fate of young fellows

And their anxious attempts to forget

So you’re the bad man that killed Kerbie yeah?

Yeah

And that little girl yeah?

I didn’t mean to kill her, it was an accident

Do you know who that girl was though?

Nah

That was my fucking sister

Chris man, just allow it

Don’t tell me to fucking allow it, you don’t fucking know me

These are the tears of a thug like murky water

Crying tears as clear as mud for his father’s daughter

His half sister, he felt obliged to support her

Since her mum was poor and her dad died even poorer

Separated until she was eight years old

He knew as soon as he saw her that he adored her

So now he’s paying for blood with a borer

And an automatic weapon;

Smith And Wesson

That’d split a fucking hole in your chest length

He’s been looking to corner the perpetrators responsible for a killing

Now that he’s finally got them where he wants them

Blood will start spilling

The atmosphere in the air tonight is chilling

The blanket of stars above their heads in the sky feels like a ceiling

Slowly crushing down on them as the terror starts progressing

That leaves the youngest of the two open to his suggestion

Only thirteen years old;

pubescent adolescent

About to learn a very harsh and depressing lesson

Here, stab him up.

Do it!

Jake bruv, just, come on.

I can’t, I can’t do that

How the fuck do you think we got here?

How the fuck do you think I know where you live?

He offered to kill you earlier — for me!

What

What so you set me up?!

Fucking talk to me bruv!

That’s it, get mad!

You fucking used me bruv!

I didn’t tell you to fucking kill her

These are the tears of a wanna-be thug

Crying tears as thick as blood cause his elders set him up

To take the fall and now he’s stuck with no way of getting out

Cause even if there was a way he’d still want to vent this anger out

Without a doubt these street are rife with corruption

Young minds get corrupted and so easily fucked with

Only leads to destruction in the end;

false assumptions

That people have your back makes you believe they’re your friends

Although some represent;

no one can be trusted

One double-O percent cause some thugs will go to lengths

To get revenge

Even if it means manipulating youths to carry skengs

And do the dirty work for them

The kind of work for men

That route the dark has past

Not impressionable young children that never had a chance

Growing up in these manors most are doomed from the start

Cause the minds of their peers are as ill as their hearts

Get mad

You fucking dickhead

Do it

Pity the fates of young fellows

Too long in bed with no sleep

With their complex romantic attachments

All look on their sorrows and weep

They don’t get a moment’s reflection

There’s always a crowd in their eye

Pity the plight of young fellows

Regard all their worries and cry