Testi Perfect Coffee - Kate Tempest, Kae Tempest

Perfect Coffee

Now just two doors down\nIn the first floor flat\nAnd the old ramshackle house\nWith the broken down porch and the novelty doorbell\nThe lights are still on\nZoe plays her music low, she’s got a bottle on the go\nEverything’s in boxes\nIt’s been a long night packing\nClothes in black bin bags, Blu-Tack greasing the paintwork\nWhat the fuck is all this stuff?\nThere’s the road sign stolen from Quick Shag Street\nShirts, and skirts, posters, CDs, comedy coasters, broken TV\nBirthday card that her sister made\nIn the distant past when she turned 13\nHair stuff, books, love letters she can’t bin\nAnd outside, the night, and inside, the last hurrah\nLimited edition Air Max 1 tens\nChe Guevara bust, complete with his ornamental glass cigar\nNaff for years, the landlord never fixed the shower\nAnd the mold kept growing up the kitchen walls\nHe’ll do it up nice now, sure\nRepaint it, he’s tripled the rent\nHe’s gonna get it, and all\nShe’s only got a few hours left to get the room all packed and clean\nZoe goes to the window\nLooks to the street\nLights up a smoke\nIt’s 04:18\nThe squats we used to party in\nAre flats we can’t afford\nThe dumps we did our dancing in\nHave all been restored\nPints are up two quid\nThe staff are beautiful and bored\nYou think it’s coming up 'round here?\nIt’s falling on its sword\nIt don’t feel like home no more\nI don’t speak the lingo\nSince when was this a winery?\nIt used to be the bingo\nI’ve walked these streets for all my life\nThey know me like no other\nBut the streets have changed\nI no longer feel them shudder\nAlright, alright, I get the gist\nWhose city is this? It doesn’t want me no more\nI’ve had a glimpse into the future, it stinks\nLondon’s a walled fort, it’s all for the rich\nIf you fall short, you fall, and you know where the door is\nBoard up the broken, do it up, sell it back\nMake it bespoke, it’s all out in the open\nIt’s fine, man, hike the price right up\nAnd smile with your friends in the posh new nightclubs\nMy streets have been dug up, repaved\nNew routes for commuters, the landscape has changed\nI’m lookin' for the old tags, the graffs that once meant safe territory\nBut it seems every hieroglyph gets whitewashed eventually\nAnd so I’m moving on\nI’ve got it all to play for\nI’ll be the invader in some other neighbourhood\nI’ll be sipping perfect coffee\nThinkin', «This is pretty good,»\nWhile the locals grit their teeth and hum\n«Another fucking one has come.»\nAll I see is luxury tenements, woebegone residents\nRedolent resin-heads puffing on pleasure\nEveryone’s reckoning something is beckoning\nThere’s never been anything, there’s only forever\nTowering tower blocks, scaffolding rattling\nThe tube is prattering ram full of passengers\nSmashing its way into town, we are scavengers\nScrapping around in the sludge for our sustenance\nHave a dash party life, rubbing our shoulders\nInto the mould, yes, we do what we’re told\nWe’re Sisyphus pushing his boulder\nThe kids are alright, but the kids will get older