Everybody Down

iTunes

Kae Tempest - 'Lonely Daze'

from hugh, to you.

www.hughlovehugh.com 
www.facebook.com/hughlovehugh
www.twitter.com/hughlovehugh
www.instagram.com/hughlovehugh

Release date:
12 Oct 2016


Look Back In Laughter

Produced by Naim, recorded and mixed by Joe Morris in Crofton Park Southeast London

Edgelands

Ceezlin's debut album
10 original tracks
Vocals by Ceezlin
Produced & mastered by Scizzahz

10 Myself To Blame

Produced and mixed by Giacomo. Recorded at the Dreadnaught by Joe Morris.

SALT (produced by Giacomo)

Jacked beat from Clams Casino. Vocals recorded, mixed and mastered by Joe Morris at the Dreadnaught.

Cl▲M$HELL$$ (Jacking for Clams)

Buy on iTunes: http://bit.ly/19N5Y8t
Buy on CD/Vinyl: http://bit.ly/Y5yMU2
Watch the video: http://bit.ly/1v8fAuM

http://rhymesayers.com/theuncluded
http://facebook.com/theuncluded
http://twitter.com/aesoprockwins
http://twitter.com/mrskimyadawson

Lyrics: 
Kimya:
The wine and rain are here again and a powerless darkness had laid me down. The light are out all over town but the earthquake got me out of bed. See the little bird fly 'round his head as the little bot sits on the ground and makes the toy cars drive around. It's a loss that I can't comprehend, 'cause his mother died the other day. He's only three years old. Her body's gone but her soul is here to stay. See the little birdy watch him grow. 

Aesop:
October ended with a single feather funneling its way to muddy Earth in front a funny sparrow copycatting, 
Eventually it would select and circle one as if to pause and crown the victim of a loss I wasn't comprehending, 
There's been a fundamental loss we aren't comprehending, 
It's said the winged in post-mortal visitation echo well the stasis of a spirit taken from its only home, a legend quoted by the wreathing of a grieving child when all that's left to do is sit and watch the creatures grow and grow and grow and grow and grow and grow and grow and grow, 
The wins and rain have begun inching into frame, like darkness with a bounty on whatever lay me down, 
The town had been retiring to its quarter as if waiting for the earthquake. 

Kimya: 
See the little birdy watch him grow. The winds and rains and here again and a powerless darkness had laid me down. The lights are out all over town but the earthquake got me out of bed. 

The Uncluded - Earthquake

Buy on iTunes: http://bit.ly/19N5Y8t
Buy on CD/Vinyl: http://bit.ly/Y5yMU2
Watch the video: http://bit.ly/1vPJmCs

http://rhymesayers.com/theuncluded
http://facebook.com/theuncluded
http://twitter.com/theuncluded

LYRICS:
I can take my finger off, old dog old trick
New twist, like actually take the finger off
Wrap it in a blanket as you would a 
severed horse head, mail it to a friend you
wanna pinky swear more with, and should
they need a forearm or something they
can practice drawing skulls on, cut it
from the shoulder while the saw's warm, the
full appendage really make a world of 
difference, included too are 30 teeth to
chew out all your critics, 32 would've 
been perfect, 2 were casualties of
it's - its, I always wanted radder things for
Christmas, the rest work cool, I'm shipping
out a torso in the A.M., you should learn
to hit the organs every time at 40 paces
It's important, I can't explain why now, by
the way, legs in a crate delivery by
today, if a uniformed man knock-knock, sign
his documents, you shouldn't have to walk
out to the mailbox for the other shit

my mom was a lunch lady when I was in elementary school
she was outside during recess, she has a whistle and I thought
that that was cool, she was really nice to all the kids who didn't
have a lot of friends, she would give them hugs and tell them jokes
or she'd play catch with them, and my dad worked at the laundromat
which was really cool to me, I'd get to open up the washing machines,
and clean them out, and collect the money, and I'd open the soap 
dispenser and put new little boxes of soap inside, I knew how it worked
and I was good at it, and helping out filled me with a sense of pride,
I would meet all kinds of people there and I would look them in the eye,
and I'd say "Hi, excuse me, but do you mind if I shine the glass while 
your clothes dry?"

my whole life is a delicate cycle. 

Inside a jar with a lid, a giant arm
with a hand, they say it used to walk
upright and like New York after 10, one
day it woke up out of order nothing more
to extend, delicate cycle in the alpha of its
orbiting's end, when interpersonal
skill is already poor at its best, a
conversation can be riddled with exorbitant
debt, and you don't know it, but I owe you
more than I've kept, so if you find a biohazard
by your door on the step, maybe it couldn't 
find its faculties but swore it would help, 
wanted to be a larger part than his 
abnormalcies let, hang on, I'm over-nighting
eyes with a headlight deer stare, one up
vin van, pus an ear pair wear them if you
need a new perspective on a weird year,  and
one day when I'm better we can square 
away a fair share, the last frame silhouetted
by the sun was an air mail stamp on a 
still-warm tongue. 

I was twenty-six years old the first time I lived in a house with a
washer and dryer in it and that's the year I bottomed out, maybe
what was missing was the sense of community that comes from 
hauling your big old load out in public and airing your dirty laundry 
in the company of other people who also don't have the
amenities at their convenience in a home that's so set up that
they never have to leave, I miss the smell, the dust, the coins, the
trust, the squeaky carts, the vibrations, the bucket full of bleach,
the dryer sheets, the old pay phone, the giant sink, I'd watch my
daddy mop the floor and my heart started with a quarter. 

my whole life is a delicate cycle. 

The Uncluded - Delicate Cycle

When I decided to write my first poem as Brent Poet Laureate inspired by my visit to Wembley for the England vs Ireland friendly, I was pretty sure I’d write about the game, or at least the stadium. I wanted to tell people that if a nation can be judged on the way it treats it’s poorest, then surely the way to judge a stadium is the view from it’s cheapest seats, I wanted to shout loud from the rooftops that if this was the case then good old Wembley passed with flying colours! Or failing that, to biggup it’s world record as the venue with the most toilets (2168 to be precise). At least to mention the bloody arch! And I promise that one day I will, perhaps even making my next offering an ode to that glowing single-coloured rainbow of steel spleandour. But this time around I wrote about the pub on the high road. Because I’m sure we’ve all had a long wait for a drink at a busy bar, and for a pub in Wembley before England game, well times your worst experience by about ten… 

The spoons pre-match is three deep at the bar
punters jostle for space, this is their six yard box
some man-mark, making eyes at one bar-staff only
others go zonal, locking down a spot as wide as two Wayne Rooneys
with constant slight shuffles from left to right. In short,
this ain’t your local on a quiet Tuesday night
where any mug can find himself in acres of space. This is Wembley.
Everybody’s touch tight here. Even the designated drivers
Tetchy and in need of a juice. Even the crafty old boys in flat caps
who seem content to grumble-hum about the plastic glasses
only to lunge in with last ditch refill requests. 
I thought I had time for a pint Before kick off. 
But of all buses parked in front of the bar
Of all the rounded bellies with bright white replica kits on
I’m behind the biggest. And I’m parched here. Gasping.
Sod it. I feint left, drop the shoulder, ghost past him
Jink between two lads berating their mate for sipping too slow
“you’re a drink behind already Daz. This is like Majorca all over again.”
One more shimmy, spot the gap, then go. so close I can taste it.
Until, finally, I’m in. That’s that.
I slap my wallet on the damp mat in front of the taps
And for those who don’t know, that’s next up nailed on
A move that makes swift service a stone-wall certainty
The barman nods -  “what can I get ya?”
I inhale, quick look along the taps to check, when out of nowhere
I feel an elbow nudge from the left. “Actually mate, I think she was next.” 
There’s no answer to that. Outgentlemanned. I shrug-Grunt my approval. 
join him on the moral highground. Hold on though… Nooo!  It’s too late when it hits. 
It’s the old one two, he’s gone in with the assist. I just watch
Mouth agog, as his strike-partner orders. Two halves.
And when the drinks come, my worst fears are confirmed
Coz one is his and one is hers. Even Lands a kiss on her cheek before they turn,
And walk right by me. Arms flung over shoulders all smiley.
Beardsley and Lineker. Italia 90. I swear it’s the hope that kills you. 


Three Deep At The Bar

Imagine if Mike Skinner (back in the days of Original Pirate Material) did a one man theatre show. You would go right? 

Simon Mole is the poet from the pub, that rapper from the beach, the friendly guy with the big eyes who told that story.  His infectious enthusiasm for seeing and re-seeing the world around him is an open invitation for you to do the same. Some stuff he says is mad funny, everybody gets it, plus he speaks from the heart, and his love for the craft of writing is there for all to see. Get involved. 


Three Deep At The Bar

SimonMole

Related tracks