Dizraeli - Bomb Tesco lyrics

"1... 2... 3... 4..." Who's this? Another rapper with a messiah complex Thinking when I write a concept, it stops the nonsense But God chuckles, so I let go Playing African drums in the carpark of Tesco My heart is vast and growing I speak in paradiddles Casting poems out through the drab and the drizzle That drives down And penetrates the shoppers' coats One office bloke gives me a look like "you can't stop this bro" But I can bang a drum until my hands fall apart And if it makes one shopper dance that's my calling answered My reason for playing the evening til the morning after Carry my flame like stigmata through the falling darkness And the rising light I hit the goatskin The nature of sound means it always finds an opening This time I'm hoping it might find your lughole And if it does I'll flood your subconscious with a drumroll With the movement. What? The movement None of your rulers can stop the movement Because it moves in the veins of the movers Their brains and their boots And the strains of their music It's the movement. What? The movement None of your rulers can stop the movement Because it moves in the veins of the movers Their brains and their boots And the strains of their music "This is your time... Bomb Tesco" [?] That's my primal ish, son My tribal rhythm bounces somewhat manically in the cavity of your sinus system In order to fill your mind with this ethereal medicine You might just find yourself beatboxing in the cereal section Or tapping 4/4 beats on tins of corned beef Or slapping a solo on a slab of mature cheese The manager's called Steve And he comes over to chat to you Saying, "please do not practice drum patterns on cans of tuna It's very distracting to the consumer" But in mid-opus Steve freezes and his eyes switch focus He grabs a pack of Kit-E-Kat Starts to shake a latin rhythm with it And the shelf-stacker, Dave, is rapping bits of lyrics He's very gifted And within a minute Delores from storage has chipped in with a sung chorus in Zulu They never knew she could do that It's hard to believe Steve is beating the ba** on two vats of margarine And Dawn, from customer services, is busting verses over the P.A And Gary who has a nervous twitch and a weak brain Is stamping out the hardest beats on the counter of the pharmacy Scattering paracetamol rather anarchically Before long the whole supermarket's deep with raw song Somebody's even found some frozen cod they can play chords on Four long hours later you step out in the fading light With a new perception of space and time In the carpark, a strange guy is playing a djembe What a weird way to waste a Wednesday In the carpark, a strange guy is playing a djembe "What a weird way to waste a Wednesday", you say "Folks, can I just get you to go "the movement" one more time? [?] Just get you all to really shout it..." "1... 2... 3... 4..." We're the movement. What? The movement None of your rulers can stop the movement Because it moves in the veins of the movers Their brains and their boots and the strains of their music It's the movement. What? The movement None of your rulers can't stop the movement Because it moves in the veins of the movers Their brains and their boots and the strains of their music It's the movement. What? The movement [x8]