My Band ‘The Reytons’ Are Poet Laureate Now

My name’s Jonny Yerrel and I’ve got this band what I call ‘The Reytons.’ Summat dead weird has just happened to us so I fought I would right it down to a magazine so all the world can no that it happened and it will be in the history books and that.

Earlier on a few days ago I got a email off of our manager who is my uncle Tony and he said that there’s summat dead good what he had tell us so we went meet him in the weather spoons near the town hall and when we got there he was being dead excited so we assed him what was going on and then he said this;

“Youse lot are being named the next Poet Laureate.” Well we was all just dead excited after he told us what Poet Laureate was. Lee fought it was the bloke what played the dad in Stuart Little but I told him that was Huge Laureate and we all had a laugh at Lee. We laugh at Lee a lot cause he is dead funny. Not like funny like he’s trying make you have a laugh but like he is just a laugh to laugh at.

So anyway like, we got a letter off the King Charles and that so we went Buckingham Pallace and all four of us was called Laureate so I think we’ve got have our driving licenses updated and that. Then we got to work making loads of new poems to “capture the spirit of the times” or summat like that.

First one we came up with went like this, like;

I threw up some sick in a carrier bag,

Think it was because I just ate a fag.

Pigeon shit and dustbin lids, coca cola cans,

I live in the disused Wilkos AKA my nan’s.

What’s good about that one is that it joylessly tries show off how working class we are, which is summat we try do in our songs and that. Here’s another one we made what we’ve called ‘Space Raiders’.

Me dad choked on a bag of Space Raiders,

Pickled onion turned the daft bat blue.

Told him he’d be better off with beef flavours,

But he said the brown pack makes him think of poo.

Best bit about Space Raiders is the bit on the back,

Wicked mint bios about mental alien guys.

Reyton Space Raider with lyrics from our track,

Sells a billion copies and we win a special crisp prize.

That one works better if you imagine it is being sang by Alex Turner. We do that with a lot of our songs what we right, we try make it sound as much like Alex Turner as we can. I’m on about first Arctic Monkeys album version of him though, because I don’t think the last album sounds uncreative enough.

It turns out the Poet Laureate is a title what they give poets with the most national significance and I suppose when the nation endures more than a decade of Conservative austerity and cuts the arts funding, a dull band like us is likely end up in the royal court.

Here’s another one we wrote then I’ll call it a night because I’m getting tired of righting.

Chicken tikka massala and a pashwari naan,

Where the fuck’s me menthols what the fucks going on?

Just woke up, covered in shit in a skip outside Yates,

Last I remember was a pint and a scrap at the council debates.

Is it daft to mix drinking with local politics?

Is it even dafter to ask the mayor to flash her tits?

Fucked if I know, but it was a proper good night.

Now I’ve got to go home because I’m stinking of shite.

Trawling through me phone, read the messages from Lee,

Says we wrote more songs last night than an Arctic Monkey.

Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not.

You know the stench of the bin juice doesn’t half pong when it’s hot.

I don’t think we’ll be doing this Poet Laureate stuff for long, like. We rote those three poems on the train back from seeing the King Charles and then we ran out of ideas so I don’t think we’ll do another album either.

Just fort you’d want know.