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  1. Illustration for home by Ale Mercado

Blocks of flats on the Ballymun road,
My brain’s gone into bleedin’ overload.
Ma’s on the couch and i just can’t see
How the hell she came up with me.

Walking down the street
Where the greenmen meet,
Couldn’t see it then
They were so discreet.
Ma’ grabbed my by the arm,
No she didn’t mean harm,
She just hoped I wouldn’t cop that
This life wasn’t so sweet.

She met another bloke,
An awful posh yoke,
Then she moved me down the country
And I thought to myself
This kip is some joke.

I’m away from home
Like a dog without bone,
I’m missing my mates
And i’m missing the stones.

The accent’s gone,
The slang is half there.
Living down here you don’t know what to wear.
Trackies are chavy but denims too posh,
No one seems to speak my language,
Just talk tractors and the bleedin’ white wash.
Only thing we have in common is the couple of scoops,
Only here they call it drinks, scoops are for soup.

I just want to go home,
It’s hardly goin’ to Rome.
I feel like when I’m there
My head’s in the zone.