I am from a place called Grantham.
Which runs through the central line of GMT
Home to some of Lincolnshire's finest,
Like Margerat Thatcher, Issac Newton, and Me.
It's not what it used to be, to be honest its rather poor,
forgive me for being a pessimist,
but me and the chav's don't have that....rapport.
It's nothing personal, like a fight or a cold call,
but it IS general, so it includes you!
Because I hate them all.
The town is filled with hoodies, as they loiter day by day,
and ofcourse the police can't nick them ALL for causing an affray.
So we just seem to tollerate it, being peaceful is our intention
so we walk around, with our eyes to the ground, because it avoids unwanted attention.
By now I've probably painted a picture
of somewhere you wouldn't want to live
but i haven't told you of the good bits,
the bits of Grantham that are hid.
It hides a place called Wyndom park
which lies a distance from the streets
a tranquil medow with a running stream
a soothing place of peace.
Of course, i've lived here all my life,
so i get bored of the best bits as i roam.
but to me this place isn't called Grantham.
To me, this place is called home.