♫♫♫ ♫♫♫ ♫♫♫
Give me a...
GIVE ME A REASON
Give me a...
GIVE ME A REASON
Give me a...
GIVE ME A REASON
If you do then I'm a show 'em and ya nah jus' how I treat em
I'm like a loaded pistol
No I'm a floatin' missile
This bloke explode and hitchu
Blow ya to bone and gristle
For those that dont' know the issue...
I wrote you a note that say know this game a only be over when I say blow the whistle
Going blow for blow ya only got a broken fist you
Wont insist or throw another shot, when coma hits you
I hope you lived through worse... if not you in a hearse, so where do you believe ya soul is sent to?
You ain't an artist coz you own a stencil!
You ain't got no credentials!
I'll outline ya corpse holdin' a broken a pencil!
I'm dope! You try hard...
But... it ain't ya time nah
I'm ownin' e'ry moment a time
I'm drivin' McFly's car
So sayonara to competin'!
I'm in my own league and I ever leavin'
Till one a ya'll grow some balls worth believin'
I'll be waitin' for somebody to
GIVE ME A REASON
♫♫♫ ♫♫♫ ♫♫♫
Location: Skrabal's Motel Room, Denver, Colorado.
Date: August 25th 2019
Time: 1.15AM
Skrabal Stanzas rest his Mile High Wrestling Championship on the arm of his motel room sofa then sits down
next to it. He picks up a half empty, brown glass bottle from the floor in front of him and quickly finishes what little remains of the amber liquid inside. He leans forward placing the empty bottle on the well used coffee table in front of him and at the same time he picks up his phone, he brings it closer to him and opens the camera app then taps at the screen, beginning the recording.
The scene opens with a quick shot of an off white smoke stained ceiling as Skrabal fumbles with his phone. After a dizzying display of rapidly changes view points he finally props the up on the coffee table and the picture stabilises as he leans back in to the scuff leather sofa sofa. He leans down the side of the sofa and picks up a fresh bottle of beer and along with a it a pre-rolled joint.
He twists the lid from the bottle and casually tosses it off to side. He tilts the bottle towards the screen.
“To Tyke Index innit.”
He takes a swig of beer.
“Jus' count yaself lucky we aint be pourin' one out for ya! I mean after that nonsense ya pulled with ya lil' stunt back there come the end of the tag match. When man had the match won, blatant! Till you had ya moment and I guess ya can run go thank the bossman for the fact you even walked outta the arena after stealin' man's dub. But I nah what they be thinkin to 'em selves, they thinkin' Skrabz why you aint jus' handle him anyway? What ya gone soft now is it? Follow orders do ya? Done smoked yaself placid?... Nah it ain't that fam. It's never that, trust. Truth is when man first heard those words outta the bossman's mouth, talkin' about how I can't rip Tyke limb from limb, not until Spectacular Two... Rar! Man was straight vexxed for a second I ain't gonna lie. But those words were quickly followed a few others innit, and those others sooth my soul and lighten my mood, switch up man's thinkin' wit' a quickness.”
He takes another swig from his bottle of beer.
“What those words be though?”
He takes another swig of beer.
“They real simple to understand, trust.”
He finishes the beer and drops the empty bottle on the floor.
“Nuttin' complex, jus' five lil' words innit.”
He places the joint in his mouth then lights it and inhales deeply then exhales, forcing two plumes of smoke to explode from his nostrils.
“Phoenix Championship. On the line.”
He takes another long deep toke on his joint, his arrogant stare locked directly on the camera throughout.
“And what it make me think?... Well shit the first ting a pop in a my head was the bossman done straight up lost his mind, standard. What is it fam? Has man not been deadly enough, nah? Ya feel the need to hand him a second strap now too? Coz it's all ya doin' bredrin' and e'ryone know it but shit, it a give 'em suttin' else to tweet about for real.”
He smiles smugly and then takes a few tokes on his joint.
"Coz they be talkin' and tweetin' about a whole lot, it's daily dealin's for 'em innit. One ting I done seen heard mentioned a bunch lately is all a this talk about fightin' champions. Tyke Index said it, Jansen Myrhh said suttin' like it and we see where that get her. Shit even Titaness been tweetin' about always defended her titles with pride. And ya might call me a paracat but I jus' cant squash the feelin' like they all be throwin' a lil shade my way. Nuttin' in ya face though, I mean the shit ain't at Mister Burns tryin' block out the sun levels, it's a subliminal vibes ting, ya feel it?... Nah?"
He raises his eyebrows in an exaggerated show of curiosity.
"Yeah it's one a them tings that be said without sayin' it. Or you know, man's a paracat. But what is I s'posed to go that same route now, I mean it make sense right? I should show 'em what I'm about and put the strap where my mouth is e'ry time I step a foot in the ring."
He looks at the Mile High Wrestling Championship on the arm of the sofa.
"Is that what ya want?"
He leans down the side of the sofa and picks up a fresh bottle of beer.
"Nah, see I been showin' 'em what I'm about from day and that's the reason I got the shiny gold shit in the first. So ya have to earn this shot fam, or at least that's what I had to do but that was a long way back so I guess ya all done forgot about that. Solomon Cain had to work for it. Bullet had to wait and maintain her place for it. But then we get to Tyke Index and he a just stroll in a the bossmans office and ask for it so I guess tings done changed lately.
He twists the cap off the bottle and drops it on the floor.
"And anyway ya done know I stay sayin' since the day I snatched the strap from Candi Bratton that I ain't hard to find, in fact I been standin' right in the firein' line shoutin', screamin and wavin' my arms jus' beggin' one of ya to take a shot and not one a ya do it... But I'm s'posed to put the strap on the line against Azurine Vebbins or suttin' now?... Out of what? Fuckin' kindness fam, is that it?"
He takes a quick swig of beer then answers his own question in a high pitched, nasally tone.
“Yeah Skrabz she beat you”
He shakes his head and takes another drink of beer.
“Yeah she did, I said it before too... What ya think I'm a be mad at her coz she beat me over in X dub? Nah, shit I ain't even about to make excuses for it...
Ya nah it be kinda funny when ya think about it though. Coz man went on and on about feelin' dat azz way back durin' the first run here in Mi' High and when I finally got a chance out there in a Texas, shit I guess I just be mesmerized... Nah bun that, see I aint even gonna front coz it weren't a bad day at the office, fuck that cliché fam but I got another one for ya. How about this one, how about the better person won on the night? How that feel to ya? You think anyone a believe that?"
"
He pauses again for another deliberately slow toke on his joint, his eyes locked on the cameras lens.
“Do you believe that Azzy?
He again takes another slow draw on his joint.
“Shit it ain't matter what anybody believe anyway, so I can play it anyway I want, call it a fluke or an upset like the rest a them prolly would or I can big you up just to break you the fuck down and make it seem all that much bigger when I catch the dub come September first. So you did it blad, well done! You achieved what they all tried and failed innit, and check the ting, the list strong it read like a who's who a Mi' High and I done scratched a line through all of 'em and then there's you...”
He shakes his head and puffs on his joint.
“I ain't even mad fam, I'm disappointed. I mean how the fuck ya let it go to waste? See I heard a lot of 'em here carried on when Mi High closed, they ain't stop, kept on they grind. I might not like a single one of 'em but man like Skrabz ain't nuttin' if he ain't a man of facts and those are the facts. I respect they hustle, kinda... see they come back and they ain't stop yappin' off about what they done did elsewhere but you ain't say a word, You ask me ya should a come in screamin' from the top a the arena... Man like Skrabz couldn't shush my tush, or suttin' like that anyway. But nah, hardly a mention of what happened that night back in Texas even squeaked it's way past ya lips.”
He looks directly in to the camera.
“Why is that blad?”
He continues looking in to the camera as if waiting for an answers.
“Yeah, ya nah how it goes fam it's a rhetorical question but I'm a answer it for ya anyway.... You ain't mention that night in Texas coz ya nah full well that that night is Tex was a long fuckin' time ago, standard... we a long way removed from it and since we got back we both done slipped right on back where we belong. But still I'm disappointed in you fam, man was yearnin' to hear how you'd spin it, ya know why? I'm a tell one time, plain an simple. Man like the way you talk innit, it do a ting or two for me and ain't no other tongue make me tingle quite like yours do, ya feel me?"
He smirks and shakes his head then takes another drink of beer.
"If you ain't get fam it's a compliment. Yeah, man like skrabz done said suttin' nice about someone... who'd a thought it? It shouldn't come as no surprise though nah, ain't the first time man a done give props where they deserved, ain't the only ting man feel he gotsta give you props for either, nah. S'like I done said we a slipped back in to our positions and you just happy wit' yours innit. Yeah you ain't like the rest of 'em, you know ya position innit... What you think I mean? Oh Skrabz on a misogynist vibe now? Augustin Gates tip? Nah, man is talking strictly business, on a wrestlin' vibe ya feel me?... Yeah, see coz while rest of 'em got those delusions of grandeur, out there plottin wit' they sneaky snake ways to try take what's mine you jus' happy out there twistin' and twirlin' while ya chanters chant. Sellin' aprons and shit, making that bank. I salute that fam, straight up. If that's what you do and you ain't pretend otherwise I can't hold it against ya."
He relights his joint and takes a few quick tokes.
"But lets rewind back to the way you talk though, coz I done see you sayin' pon the twitter there that we gonna have to put it in subtitles, coz they aint understand us or suttin'? Shit they used to say that to me a whole lot 'till they started talkin' like me. But s'far as you go I understand e'ry single word you say fam. Loud and clear, in fact true say it do suttin' for me on level I ain't experience before, I mean me nah stranger to bein' tickled by a tongue but this be suttin' else for real. So gimme that shit fam! Do that alliteration ting you do, lemme hear those oh so sexy syllables slip and slide sensually off ya saliva slicked tongue."
He pauses and takes another swig of beer.
" I beg you..."
He leans forward in his seat and finishes his beer then slams the bottle down on the coffee table.
"SAY SUTTIN!"
He takes a few rapid and relaxing tokes on his joint.
“Tell me how ya beat me, tell 'em all fam, tell Solomon Cain! Tell Bullet! Tell The Foundation, Forge, Rock and Roll God, Candi Bratton, Zombie... Take a deep breath, puff out ya chest and TELL 'EM you did what they couldn't! Coz if you don't, shit I'm a handle the ting but all you gettin' is jus' small part a what Tyke Index is owed.”
He takes another slow, deep toke on his joint.
"And after it's all said and done, after I does what I do and catch me another dub for my collection I needs ya to do me a favour Azzy. I needs ya to, next time ya log in to ya lil twitter account, next time you tappin' at that screen to tell e'ryone about national wash ya backside day or national shave a fuckin' hamster day or whatever else bullshit you be on, I needs ya to add a lil' suttin' extra to ya tweet. I needs ya to tell 'em all that yesterday, today, tomorrow and e'ry single day that follow is the world wide day a Skrabz, standard.
He finishes his joint and stubs it out in an ashtray on the coffee table.
"Coz the name alone outshine they acts, ya nah it's BIG SKRABZ the champ. I stay strapped, stay winnin', stay statin' facts... and ain't nuttin' changin' that!"
He leans forward and taps the screen of his phone, ending the recording.