…I say “meh” to it/ Cos I’m fed up of not getting the best of it/ I sit around all down cos I’m stressed and shit/ But life’s far too short so to heck with it/ Mek a tit outta myself get vexed a bit/ But lately, things seem like they’re extra big/ When really…all I need is an exorcist/ …To get rid of the spirit of the pessimist/ So forget the shit, I need to concentrate/ There’s a lot of wasted time I need to compensate/ Used to do a song a day ‘till I got long int face/ And who cares whether it’s summat that you want to rate?/ …I’ve only just discovered that I’ve got no fate/ And one day, I’ll be laying in a box and grave/ Or even burnt to ashes after songs of praise/ I’d rather be here than there that’s the concept mate/ (Meh)…it should be my life’s motto/ Life’s proper good in the hood when I’m blotto/ But I wake up the next day with a head like “uh ohhh”/ Probably shouldn’ta said what I said and kept my gob closed/ I’ve got loads of regrets that are similar still/ There’s no point killing yourself over spilling the milk/ I never wanted to be King of the Hill/ Just a diligent civilian that’s written it ill/ I made a beat a week decided to give it a rest/ There were nuff people commenting, for this I was blessed/ But there’s only so long the internet can big up ya chest/ Gotta get out in the real world and give it your best/ Cos at the end of the day, it’s just a pen and a page/ A guy called Ben on a stage, who remembers the days/ Forever amazed, in HMV, spending his wage/ Getting Brand New Second Hand or some Eminem, Dre/ Some venomous Cage whatever, it’s irrelevant mate/ Cos it’s twenty seventeen, I’ve bin checking the date/ Nothing worse than saying that, cos with every play/ From twenty eighteen onwards it’ll sound terribly aged/ Anyway, generally everybody’s obsessed with the fame/ Whatever happened to making art for the sake of it mate?/ If it’s getting on top of you and you aren’t tekin the strain/ Take a load off your back and remember to say… “Meh” to it mate//