In Competition No. 2514 you were invited to recast a fairy tale as a rap. I thought that fairy tales might translate well into the language of rap. After all, violence is a dominant theme in both genres (especially in the Grimms’ original x-rated versions, which featured scenes of murder, mutilation, cannibalism, infanticide and incest that would make Stephen King blanch).
The winners this week, printed below, were outstanding. Convincing raps, like successful Mills & Boon romances, are not easy to pull off. So it’s a well-deserved £30 each. Natural-born rapper Bill Greenwell nets the bonus fiver.
Felicity Powell didn’t enter this week’s comp but, driven to despair by the genius of certain serial winners, she submitted the following plea: Dear Basil, Bill and Adrian Fry,/ However hard and long I try/ To Match, compete/ With you, D.A., G.M. and Alan Millard,/ Attempts prove far too hard/ And end with just a torn-up sheet./ Perhaps you should be penalised/ And all you write to be in Greek.
Yo tha starlet in tha scarlet is tha goodie-totin hoodie
With a plan to heal her grandma but she sayin howdy-doodie
Tho her momma said no stoppin & kip one eye out fa snoopers
But the zipcode on her lips is meat & drink to Mr Lupus
When she pickin pretty flowers off tha narrow off tha straight
Mr Lupus eatin grandma whole & don’t need any plate
& he waitin in tha sheets & he thinkin of dessert
Red Ridin Hood an eyeful of a trifle in a skirt
Big Eyes Big Nose but what’s this that Grandma doin?
Big Teeth he get her redcoat down his throat tha road to ruin
& Mr Lupus sleepin soundly with tha grandma & tha child
Since a wolf int got no rule gainst eatin schoolgirls & is wild
But tha axman like tha taxman he is bound to make a call
And instead a makin tracks, man, Lupus think he got it all
A wolf within a negligee may think that he is cool
But no-chew-only-swallow Mr Lupus is a fool.
Bill Greenwell
I’m just a diddy dude with an attitude
Let’s assume Lil’ Rumpkin is my nom de plume
R for romeo, I for iggy-jigger
K for kicking ass for some Grimm-faced wigga.
I’m solid in the projects with my Munchkin crew
If you deal me the straw, I’ll spin gold for you.
It’s an impossible thing, this bling for the King,
For the daughter of the miller, if she fails, he’ll kill her.
She weaves her magic spell by getting me to cheat,
And he marries his gold digger, so she thinks life’s sweet.
But I haven’t waived the wager that we made long since,
Guess my name or give your boy, formally known as Prince.
Yet my tag’s sussed on the streets and I can’t keep it hid
Yo, smack the bitch up, she gets to keep the kid!
Now my tale is told, so I guess that’s it,
(Gets easy when you leave out all that Freudian shit.)
Simon Machin
Listen up you people cuz I’m rappin’ Cinderella —
She los’ da fancy shoey but den foun’ herself a fella.
Life was goin’ nowhere for da mega-sufferin’ Cinders,
Her sisters allus dissin’ her an’ cluckin’ ‘Clean da winders!’
Sure, dey bigged it in da bling an’ sassy classy clo’s
But dere wasn’ no denyin’ dey was two well ugly ho’s.
When Cinders got so low down dere was no place left to fall,
Some foxy fairy lady say, ‘You goin’ to da ball;
I’s worried ’bout you honey chile, I knows you bin self-harmin’
So shake da booty, it’s ya duty, you can pull Prince Charmin’.’
Da babe she struts her stuff, puts on da wiggle an’ da swerve,
Princey he gets blissed-up cuz he done gone fell in lurve.
At midnite Cinders splits da scene to get on back to real —
In da hurry an’ da scurry she bust off da glassy heel;
Prince see it on da sidewalk an’ he travel all da land
To find da foot to fit it an’ den give da chick his hand.
Mike Morrison
Momma lays soul food on this bitch from the hood,
Saying take it to your granma who lives in the wood
Now you hurry along with this moveable feast
And don’t talk to men because they all just beasts.
Well Red Riding Hood she met this hairy dude
Who was, like, ‘yo, sista, don’t be bolting your food.
See, it ain’t no crime to take your time
So stop to smell the flowers, says my jiveass rhyme’.
This hoe thought his mojo was the way to go,
So she lit up a doobie and took it slow.
When she got to the cottage, checked her grandma out
She wanted to shout, there was room for doubt.
The old lady there was in an altered state,
Dig those big, big eyes and that dental plate.
Yeah, in the nightie was the wolf with the heavy-duty teeth
But Miss Riding Hood was hot for what was underneath.
Basil Ransome-Davies
Now our porridge was hot so we’re bears in the hood
An’ we’re cruisin’ with the crew to chill in the wood
Just me and the junior bear and my ho’
Only she forget an’ she don’t lock the do’,
So we come back in and we look in the bowl
But the stuff’s half gone an’ we start to howl
’Cos some dude’s been here, so we check our stash
An’ it’s all OK so I pass round the hash
But the boy bear he go upstairs to crash
Then ’bout a minute we hear what he said
‘There’s a honky bitch and she broke my bed
But she got like wicked golden dreads!’
I said ‘don’t diss her man, just give her some blow,’
But she jumps outta bed an’ away she go
An she’s outta the window, man, she ain’t slow
Now we lost little Goldi-dreads for real! Yo!
Brian Murdoch
Competition No. 2517: Nonsensical
‘They went to sea in a Sieve, they did…’ You are invited to continue, giving your own version but maintaining the style of a nonsense song (16 lines maximum). Entries to ‘Competition 2517’ by 18 October or email lucy@spectator.co.uk.
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