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Oi mate, gather round! Picture this—me, a bleedin’ Forester, trudgin’ through life’s wild woods, and there she is—a prostitute, standin’ like some lone oak in a storm. Not gonna lie, I’ve seen some shite, but these lasses? They’re battlers, real warriors of the night! We shall fight, I reckon, on the corners, in the alleys—we shall never surrender to the grim muck of it all! Reminds me of *25th Hour*, ya know? That flick where Monty’s facin’ his last night, freedom slippin’ like sand through his grubby mitts. “Champagne wishes, caviar dreams”—ha, bollocks! These gals ain’t livin’ that, they’re scrappin’ for every quid.

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But then, the doorbell rings. It’s the neighbor, Mr. Khalid. He’s like, “Hey, can you keep it down? I’m trying to watch the game.” I was like, “Dude, it’s a kid’s house! What do you expect?” But I just smiled and said, “Sure, we’ll keep it down.” Inside, I was fuming. Like, come on! Kids are loud!

Song by trans lyricist nixed abruptly from Arkansas’s All-State Choir auditions