Yeah I see you checking my moves. Pretty hot huh? It takes work, I’m not going to lie to you. Practice, practice, practice, day in, day out. It’s a hard graft, standing outside the tube, busting my moves for six hours a day. True, sometimes I do move the show across the road to outside the Post Office but that’s purely to challenge myself, you understand. Those old dears queuing up for their pensions are a tough crowd and I like to take it to the next level. Damn this cider is refreshing…Boop do do dee dooop.
It’s you, my adoring audience, who keep me going. You’re the reason I rise at 6am and drag myself out of the squat to the station. Some days without even having the time to shower myself, but you probably don’t realise that. No, it’s not the smack. I don’t know what you’re referring to. Ok, if you insist, another cider would be smashing…Boop do do dee doooop.
I’ve always had natural rhythm. And style. I’ve got it so right now that I don’t even bother changing anymore. Why mess with the perfection of baggy low-slung red pants and a white(ish) t-shirt? My favourite dealer gave me this cap too and I feel it tops the whole thing off pretty nicely. Gives me a Run DMC vibe, right?
It’s a lonely job though. People are understandably intimidated by my talent and tend to keep their distance a bit. I can see it in their faces, it’s almost like they’ve just caught a whiff of a bad smell. But I’m a performer and the show must go on. Now where is my supporting artist Mr Strongbow? Ahh here you are old pal…boop do dee doooop dooop.
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