Self Portrait - Dirty Dike

This is my self portrait

Wrapped up warm in my north-face

Gliding through storms and doorways

And rhyme 'til my jaw breaks

Sure mate a vision of me

With the television smashed and the sizzling beef

And I’m steady living, trapped in the rhythm and beat

And my head is spinning, smacked out hitting the weed

And I guess it isn’t bad if it helps me adjust

But I’ll tell you it’s mad when it dwells in my trust

And affect it, and that’s a lesson mate use it

Seems that I have to be depressed to make music

Unless my face cubic, I’ll break out the surface

Never played stupid, my guessing games worthless

As I step on the wetter rain dirt

Its a lot more certain I never played her kid

One step ahead of my definite loss

Trying to fight my battles but the weapon is blocked

Am I ever going to be the main game or a weather turner

Never going to be my own brain or a clever learner

I’ll pedal further to make heads turn

I’m hooked like a maggot or a baked dead worm

So is this hatred, happiness all maybe fake

Confused by my life but I play the game

And stay the same insane in my crazy brain

And paint my name on walls to claim the fame --

It’s plainly lame

I can’t find the reflection, the puddle’s been clouded

Blind from deception, another kid frowning

Why must I step with the rubble and the sand dunes

My mind seems fucked from the trouble and the bad news

My dad used to say to keep sane;

keep up James and don’t live the clean way

But he’s blatantly strange, faking his ways

From a crazy age I saw him pacing away

Chasing the pathways, lost with the lights out

Raving with class mates, cost of a life now

The lessons learnt from the freshly burned victim

I once beat a kid to the ground then I kicked him

Switch the sickness to friends and favours

Strong as a shield as I bend your sabres

Free from the jail, the dark and dark fader

Tarnish my past, live fast and laugh later

This is dark, my answers scarce paper

Gassed in the last chamber, enhance my hearts neighbour

But thats my soul or my brain, or the golden maze of my swollen veins

Or my body parts drenched in the rain as the lorries pass

Motorways stain fake like a bobbies mask

Got to pass this rap in a sore state

I’d love to be free but I’m trapped in my portrait