Postboy

Poem to Mastering company "Chop em out" who delivered CD's (as well as breakfast)to MCA records back in the early 90's)

Postboy

You kept us alive
you fed us as we fried our brains
Nightly
Ever so slightly
You weren't to know
Your gastronomic backhanders
treats for the ones that could afford to eat lunch.
We fell on your croissants like vultures
Desperate,depraved
Fellow colleagues probably afraid
But would gladly of denied us our daily feed.
The irony
Straight from a seedy Victoria hotel bed
Stinking of sex and guilt and musty sheets
Monday to Friday
One massive party
hundreds of pounds a night
Acid and booze and coke and sex and violence and arguments
We lived like extravagant kings
lording it up in the glorious streets of Soho.
Hoho
Back to Mayfair
To work at the bottom
Always late and broke
Begging for scraps and smoking butts.
Malnourished but for Chop em out`s complimentary pastries.