fuck me,
who do you think you are?
acting like a queen,
like you're living out a dream.
crushed ice in your glass,
phone camera lenses flash.
no one looks at you as they pass,
going to the counter to pay with cash.
you act like this is a palace,
unlimited coke in your chalice.
but how many ways can you cook chicken,
and how many sides are really worth picking?
is it actually that cheeky,
when you're hardly even sneaky?
you broadcast it to facebook,
with all the group selfies that you took.
why do you settle for this crap,
your dry chicken and salad wrap?
you don't think you're in a marketing trap,
spending your money on edible tat?
now quit pretending this is good,
the quality of the sauce you misunderstood.
make your way back through those doors,
you can do so much better than Nando's
Poem #4