Today, it was raining and there was absolutely nothing to do, so I thought to myself: "I know, I'm going to learn all the lyrics for Ed Sheeran's 'You Need Me, I Don't Need You' off by heart, 'cause I'm pro".
And I did it! But now my Mum thinks I'm mental and I'm out of breath. I'm going to type up the words from memory (the following is not copied and pasted, I promise!)
Now I'm in town, break it down, thinking of making a new sound,
playing a different show every night in front of a new crowd,
that's you now, ciao, seems that life is great now,
see me lose focus as I sing to you loud.
I can't no I won't hush, I say the words that make you blush,
I'm gonna sing this now (ow ow).
See I'm true, my songs are where my heart is,
I'm like glue, I stick to other artists,
I'm not you, now that would be disastrous,
let me sing and do my thing and move to greener pastures.
See I'm real, I do it all it's all me,
I'm not fake, don't ever call me lazy,
I won't stay put give me the chance to be free,
Suffolk sadly seems to sort of suffocate me.
[Chorus]
I sing I write my own tune and I write my own verse, hell,
don't need another wordsmith to make my tune sell,
call yourself a singer-writer you're just bluffing,
name's on the credits and you didn't write nothing.
I sing fast, I know that all my shit's cool,
I will blast and I didn't go to Brit School,
I came past with the way I act, right,
I can't last if I'm smoking on a crack pipe.
And I won't be a product of my genre,
my mind will always be stronger, than my songs are,
never believe the bullshit that fake guys feed to ya,
always read the stories that you hear on Wikipedia.
And musically I'm demonstrating,
when I perform live feels like I am meditating,
Times at the Enterprise when some fella filmed me,
young singer-writer like a Gabrielle Climi.
[Chorus]
'Cause with the lyrics I'll be aiming it right,
I won't stop 'til my name's in lights, at stadium heights,
with Damien Rice, on red carpets,
now I'm on Arabian Nights,
because I'm young I know my brother's gonna give me advice.
Long-nighter, short height and I'm going hyper,
never be anything but a singer song writer,
yeah the game's over but now i'm on a new level,
watch how I step on the track without a loop pedal.
People think that I'm bound to blow up,
I've been around about a thousand shows,
but I haven't got a house plus I live on the couch,
so you believe the lyrics when I'm singing them out.
From day one I've been prepared, with V05 wax for my ginger hair,
so now I'm, back to the sofa giving a dose of what the future holds,
because it's another day,
plus I keep my last name forever, keep this genre pretty basic,
gonna be breaking into other people's tunes when I chase it,
and replace it with the elephant in the room with a facelift,
into another rapper's shoes using new laces.
I'm selling CD's from my rucksack, aiming for the papers,
selling CD's from my rucksack, aiming for the majors,
Nationwide tour with Just Jack, still had to get the bus back,
clean-cut kid without a razor for the moustache,
I hit back, when the pen hurts me,
I'm still a choir boy in a Fenchurch tee,
I'm the same as a year ago, but more people hear me though,
according the Myspace and YouTube videos.
I'm always doing shows, if I'm not I'm in the studio,
truly broke, never growing up, call me Rufio,
melody music maker, reading all the papers,
they say I'm up and coming like I'm fucking in an elevator.
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