Before I Came To Be Congy

BEFORE I CAME TO BE CONGY I USED TO LOVE CHICKEN LEGS, THIGHS AND CURLS BUT NOW I LOVE CONGY WHO IS THE ONLY FLAVOUR HE BLINDED ME IN DAMASCUS WHILE HIS PRINTOUT CUT MEN AND WOMEN LIKE RAZORS NOW IMMA PRAISER OF CONGY BEN AND I ANSWERED TO HIS CALL IT TOOK ME TOO MANY MANLY STEPS FROM THE CRAWL BUT I KNEW BACK THEN I WAS GONNA MAKE IT UP TO CONGY BEN AND FACE THEM ALL YES ALL THE PEOPLE THAT SCONED HIM WITH ROCK BUNS AND CAKES I SAID TO HIM CONGY MAN YOU ARE ALL NATIVE NEVER SAYING LET'S GET CREATIVE AND I SAID THAT HE IS KNOWN TO ME NOW AND WILL BE KNOWN TO ME AGAIN WHEN ALL THE LAST SCONES HAVE GONE FROM THE PLATE BUT STILL I LOVE THE WAY THAT YOU UPLIFT GOOD BAKING CONGY! SO X EQUALS THE FLESH AND Y EQUALS THE BIG CONG AND FROM THE DUST IS WHERE YOU CAME ALONG FROM IT DON'T MEAN TO SAY THAT IT'S WHERE YOU GONNA END UP SON

Yes that was Congy Ben. Including recent problems in publication and temperish remorse this moo based website has made my Congy soggy. He's sorry. Heard one sermon too many and ended up feeling foggy. I'm bored with time and choosing my next word. Fraserburgh's not in the Microsoft spell-checker so why should I not try and make this better? I've always had a problem with my moods. Poor education means damn there goes another dude. Hence : I've given up on copyright. Look at your cancer. You don't need a specialist answer. I came to bring it and I brought it. Nobody will reply to my telescopic type topics cause my argument's too simple. Your argument is complex but I squeeze it and it bleeds like a red pimple. My trips to Inverness locked it and a further ninety-seven times I went to Fraserburgh, Congy spoke shit but I blocked it, now a grown man, I proved it, I superseded his average line and I blew it, I combine a scholar with a shock caller, I still want to convert my poetry to pounds and dollars, but typically speaking, I BAKE like a Mohican, I'm not writing like they say for myself but for fuck's sake writing for someone else. Now don't that make a change? Not to hate? I'm drunk enough to stay up late, drunker in my Stature than a bull, but not drunk enough to catch you if you fall. I don't need to count my friends cause we're still starving artists, that's starving not hungry. I want to see the whole of Africa come and live in this country. I'd get out of bed for that, I can still spit out enough to end a four year drought, with my first line outs, and my second line shouts it out again. Written words of mouth flowing til my ink cartridge runs out. In the meantime I got Scots slang teachers and human internet creatures, broken pencils and scribble pad poets, girls equipped with modems and dial tones, fuck****ing mobile phones, none of that shit features, not in any advanced society. I'm obliged to live as I can be, that is to the same tune that could be a symphony. I mean to say : look at what the bastard petty Bourgeoisie did to me!