The other day I ran a competition here on the blogs, more in hope than in any real expectation that anyone would be stupid enough to go on for it. After all, who would be stupid enough, apart from me, to write a rap song about parsnips?
Andy Roberts, that’s who.
I’ve known Andy for very nearly twenty years; I have published his books, I have been the subject of his scurrilous writings and over that time we not only remained friends but have spend an enormous amount of time recommending obscure hippy music to each other. So I am kicking myself for not having predicted that this peculiar Yorkshireman would have been the winner of my stupidly tongue-in-cheek competition….
Buttered Parsnip Rap
I’m chillin’ down the veg store, gonna get me my grits
When the dude at the till says blood, check out the parsnips
I say wha? I Say wha? I Say wha? like a cliché
Cos blood, like, you know, parsnips don’t go in no quiche (hey!)
Dude says cool it, blood, with the ill behaviour
Y’all ain’t tried nuthin’ til you’ve tasted their flavour
This jam is dedicated to those who said we couldn’t
And to those in the house who simply thought we couldn’t
Find a rhyme, find the time, catch the serendips
To get a nigga to utter fine words butter no parsnips