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Tales of Self Preservation Gone Wrong

by Bee Mick See

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1.
Intro (free) 02:19
So I’m just back from my full body treatment at the day spa in Hillsborough - considering what to put on. I’m thinking - ' my little black Dior dress, my new red Manolo’s and of course I never leave the house without the Gucci bag! So I’m making my way to the house of Fraser while thanking whoever it was that decided at last to put a shopping complex in Belfast that has some class. Having to go to New York for all my clothes was becoming tiresome - and I’m also worried about the effects of jet lag on the ageing process. Anyway, I’m just after spending nine hundred pounds that daddy gave me on a dress for tonight when ‘Malone Grange’ Nichola rings me. It’s so hard to be civil to people of a lower class than yourself. After inquiring how she got my number I told her I planned to go to the Front Page to see some spide from Belfast rapping about the problems of the working classes? I told her she should come. She would understand the material and fit in with the unsavory clientele of the seedy public house… She seemed upset. I told her it wasn’t my fault that she had a reputation for being as easy as a fresher in Kelly’s. She hung up. So I arrive at the front page and immediately I feel like I’m at an audition for Oliver Twist. These people are actual travelers! So standing in front of the stage that night I’m thinking po - tential. The baggy clothes will have to go of course - and the hair - and probably the accent. But we can work on him. Bottom line is – he’s an artiste - and artistes - are never lower class. So I’m speaking to Felicity the following morning and I’m like O.M.G. - last night’s escapades… you will never believe the scandal! I filled her in on all the gossip and said could you imagine it? Me? The girlfriend of a famous Belfast Rapper? And he might even write a song about me - and think of the wedding pictures in the Ulster Tatler! And all of a sudden felicity rudely interrupts me… ‘Bee Mick See…oh I’ve heard of him. You know he’s fucked Sharon? And he was fucking shit. And he’s gross. And he’s not even from Belfast…he’s a fucking yank!
2.
I'm Not Like You (free) 02:36
Verse 1 A teenage hermit – like crabs in gees My mates brought me misery So I ditched those there enemies To find the friend in me Those cunts made – me feel lesser In solitude I felt much better Let my peers, the pressure - pressure Fucked out lies, for honest gestures Found myself - in my own wee head Took the don't give a fuck route instead Deep in thought – self stylin’ Swapped cryin’ for smilin’ I got bullied didn’t need a shrink Just a pen a pad and time to think Like Robert Johnson I sang the blues Homesick – alone sick – with nout to do Chorus I'm not like you - keep it in your head I'm - Not - Like - You Verse 2 Confident - used to lack that quality Didn't get that from - St. Malachy's Them cunts – want a flock of sheep Just as well I self taught to lead From back of class - learnt stacks of knowledge A 2:1 in life, without the college Give us the long route – in this life I’m sharp like a blade on a Limerick knife Aye…I’m as hard as water My brain’s rare like Geldoff’s daughter So I learned to ignore Those dicks ceased to care anymore I’ve a hard head – mentally – physically Strict attitudes don’t yap like Yosemite Sam – yes ma’am – I’m a man But – but I’m no football fan Straightened my back Used both straps on my red rucksack Gained respect from those jerks Shocked I walked with – self worth Fickle ones – mocked at the start I stayed strong like Wim Hof’s heart Paid my dues – drank my juice Learned all about what it’s like to lose Verse 3 The lads – let me in their crowd Head locked me to break me down But this locksmith picked their grip open Back when I was softly spoken Broke my mould – it had to go Now I walk by cunts with nout to show Deadbeat dads – aerosol bags And all this talk about shit they had
3.
Laryngitis (free) 04:23
Chorus Laryngitis…has got a grip on me Laryngitis…it won’t let me be Verse 1 My throat don’t want me anymore Been treating her like a Bedford Street whore Working her hard - with no affection When she’s sore - pay no attention It hurts to laugh - hurts to cough Hurts to rap, Hurts to talk I’m raging - cuz my doctor can’t help But truth be told - I blame myself Motherfucker I’m ill - and sick Tell Mary Harney - I feel wick Tell Mike - D it’s not time to get ill I’m going to need a powerful will Cuz vocal rest, is the only approach Of sorting out my fucked up throat With a larynx raw - and looking grotesque I’m going on a silent protest Verse 2 H-2-0 - guzz-l-er 8 month sore throat suf-fer-er Lost at sea like a cock-l-ers Exhausted like old muff-l-ers Ballix - I’m immune to Lockets Got a grip of sick-line dockets Sir piss-a-lot - I’m always peein’ Drink enough water for ten Somalian’s Off the liquid - cow’s produce Plus salty shit and pure fruit juice No more grass - or spicy foods No more gigs - no more booze That happiness - an elaborate ruse Cuz I’ve been paying for all my dues “But patience - it’s a - virtue If ye give up it’ll only hurt you” Verse 3 9 – months – without the sauce Live like monks in Mount Athos Feel trapped - like citizens of China My larynx morphed into a vagina Anal about throw maintenance Hold my breath around cigarettes Honey ‘n’ lemon makes no difference How could I of been so ignorant? To think shoutin’ - loutin’d be Ok With beer, whiskey and grass that’s sprayed Throat was fucked, but I didn’t care Until I wound up in this dull nightmare A spoilsport, in a party gaff So – don’t smoke - in my flat “Aye - Brendy killed the craic” Fuck that - Brendy wants his voice back Verse 4 Lady-less – a sober mess On self-sanctioned – house arrest Eating right – drinkin’ less My ship’s a sinkin’ mess Told my ma – I’m on the fritzle My head’s like potassium crystals Been stewing in my own spittle Life ain’t sweet like a pack of Skittles Emotions are – up the left A mute – only – I’m not deaf Shattered – I’ve got nothing left An all time low - bass clef Can’t bounce back – getting older Longest sore throat record holder Weather’s dry – it’s getting colder Wrong place - wrong time like British soldiers End Get – the fuck out – of my throat – you cunt Tell – your mates – that I've had enough You – have long – overstayed your welcome Your lease – has been up – for the past 6 months
4.
Chorus In the north of the island We get a good bit of summertime The weather’s fine, the sun it shines But people still find time to whine A wee bit of rain, and we complain As if it’s always been this way Enjoy the shit you’ve got the day Tomorrow - it’ll be away Verse 1 Walk through town - feels like a disco Looking my own, free range nympho Girls - looking savory like Bisto Thong, thong - God bless Sisqo I’m your average neighborhood perve Salivate to voluptuous curves My sex like is well preserved I gawk in peace - I’m a bag of nerves I’d like a girl with a long skirt - short legs Soya milk - and a packet of fegs Half skin head - rest full of dreads Peculiar - but don’t melt heads I’ll work her ground - with my bony finger Turn her into an operatic singer It’s a bit better - if she’s a minger And I don’t care if her pubes are ginger Verse 2 Take a walk up the Cavehill - just chill The hangover - I will distill My thoughts come out like an oil spill I’m a young adult - with time to kill Diffuse in the sunshine… Bad thoughts lose pace - get left behind Eternal sunshine with a spotted mind Everything is better - with some time Smile when I want to - mother fuck you Get lost out in Timbuktu Swim free in a good brew Free like a hard cunt wearing a tutu I thought briefly about my prologue My misery I will not prolong But I miss my granny - and I miss my dog So I do what I want cuz life ain’t long Verse 3 Wake up when I’m not tired Do the things my heart desires At the Conor Building - I’m a liar Cuz I don’t want to be hired Copy Jamie Oliver for a cheap meal Get a few quid, for a wee deal My true joy I will not conceal I just want to feel A girl on my ballsack And love running through my cardiac Solidarity - like the all Blacks A vibe - like a Bob Marley track Beginning to learn - when to fuck up Biding my time be-fore a new pup Throwing weak jabs at laryngitis Been driving a Caribbean bus
5.
Verse 1 (Bee) Religion and politics - don't mix Like pedophiles - and pic 'n' mix Like naked chicks - and flaccid dicks Like battered fish - and Weetabix But religion and politics share a home 1st Minister's wife's a homophobe That Pro Choice - gets no vote Cuz these cunts fear them bible quotes We need to forget tradition Legal abortion's a good decision Start thinking outside the box Fuck all them there tribal thoughts Up North - it bees promising But there's still wankers - on the fringe Hate the sinner - love the sin God hex Mrs. Robinson Chorus (Kev Bones) Rape - these - politicians NI's still run by religion Real issues - are not important No MP - supports abortion Ignorance dictates their decision "Ignore increased carbon emissions" These backward cunts - don't like change "Reward the thugs - boycott the gays" Verse 2 (Barney) Christianity’s – views on profanity Inform your bigotry or high horse morality Violence against those with different sexuality Expresses nothing but your small minded actuality Pig ignorant people – pig ignorant place Fighting about religion – fighting about race Burning houses, angry mobs away with out a trace Back you in the next-door balaclava for a face Normal people don’t do that – they just don’t give a fuck Say it’s awful - shake their heads - rob and run amuck Brought it on themselves - you know I’m not a racist but Everyone’s a bigot in this squalid piece of muck Hatred’s spilling over you can see it in the news Race war fuelled by poverty and booze Wilson and the peelers say it was two drunken youths Moved a hundred people would you ever tell the truth? Verse 3 (Slaine) If they had it their way it would be back to the old days Afraid to walk the streets on the urban clearways Looking over your shoulder as you walk home at night Cuz some inbred fuckers feel the need to fight It’s just primal, rage – hate breeds hate Modern day cave dwelling sub secluded estate Tell you one thing though – with all being said No immigrant has ever put a gun to my head It was you – who filled my childhood with fear It was you – built the roadblocks year after year It was you – who dragged out this bullshit war It was you – and you’re still living next door When ye hear a local accent my heartbeat jumps Incase it’s one of them who’s got his hand on a pump What’s wrong – was that too close to the bone? If you had it your way you’d be here on your own Verse 4 (Bee) 3 pints in - I make no sense Just like Republican dissidents Hypocrites - bigot pricks Target their own - like bloods and crips Combat 18 - don't reflect me Foreigners they don't bother me If there's no black in the Union Jack Then take your fucking flag back Teigs do it too - not just snouts On the New Lodge Indians got fucked out So don't you hide - behind your Guinness Irish and British - both racist Freedom fighters - not anymore Just thugs - gangsters - traitors They'll do your knees if you’re on their turf They'll sort ye out if ye need a score Those Contos don't keep it real Like vegans - consuming veal But soldiers they be out for the thrill And Massereene staff were trained to kill Verse 5 (shunt) If it ain't broke bitch - watch me break it On Slumdog Millionaire fucks no fakin' I'm statin' - you'll get left anally achin' Cuz today's pig is tomorrow's bacon Your systems in hell - it's dead as a dinosaur I won't stop rooting ‘til your whole vaginas sore Dirtocre - going down in folklore The Ginger Jesus white king of the boak-core Cunt – the Shunt's a cold front dissent Intent on a sexually disturbing event I commence - to sticky up your ass and your pants You’re just a fucking number like the age of consent It's nonsense - all bullshit and pretence If ye sense incompetence get the fuck off the fence Whip your begs for these slegs & fegs And make them suck your dick and claim that as expense
6.
Aww Shucks (free) 06:03
Verse 1 Aww shucks – think I’m in love But it’s probably more like lust Most birds I don’t give a fuck But love you’re stuck – love you’re stuck Inside my head like – cerebellum Babe you’re sweet like – water – melon You can be the early 80’s – smellin’ I’ll play the role of Mount St Helens Chorus …Let’s be more than friends We can make love – instead Hit the bed – and do that shit again I thought my heart was dead Until I seen your lens I got lost in them And I don’t want directions This is not about erections Cuz your love be infectious Like the death penalty in Texas So come on love just text us And tell me you concur Cuz I’ve been feeling burr And I think you could cure The heartache I endure Verse 2 First time I met you – I was steamin’ Can’t remember – that there weekend The mouth of me – was truly leapin’ All my manners – they were weakened But you just looked so damn appealin’ I had to say what I was feelin’ Maybe it was – the mephedrone speakin’ But I think you found me intriguin’ But I’m all right – and you’re so great And a birdie told me you liked my mate My first impression was too risqué Like Michael Stone on that Milltown day Well that’s no bother sure I can wait I’m patient – I procrastinate Cuz you’re so sweet and soft like crêpes All I ask is that we date Verse 3 Your eyes be looking so Mary – poppins Hole’s like a big bag of grass – whoppin’ We can do pretend Christmas – shoppin’ Penis the gift – your clit the wrappin’ I’m like a book being read – open Thinking a bunch about you – hopin’ We convert text to sex – gropin’ Finish that shit in bed – soakin’ I’m not a whole lot to look at – true Cuter than Andrex puppies – you Shot me down like an F22 Been wrecking my head like a spide – glue Let’s do breathing exercises – together Eat all veggie in shitty – weather …Just want to get to know you better Just want to get to know you better Verse 4 About her I don’t know many things But this don’t mean much of anything I know she sings – and know she brings A smile to this here human being Every time I see her – I want her more She’s rock cocaine – I’m a crack whore I’m a wee stoner – she’s a wee score For her I’d delete all my porn Out with her’s where I want to be – hangin’ Body’s like two porn stars – bangin’ But I’m the filth – and she’s the Lagan I’ve got to be with her – shaggin’ …Wanna shoot her up - needles We can come together – Beatles Raw – save costs on bags – Lidl Don’t want to swap my box – deal Verse 5 Looks I’m wishing I didn’t - lack It’s becoming clear – you don’t like me back I’ve pulled some crackers – in the past But this means nout without your ass Never been one to fight for love If it’s there I shouldn’t have to throw a punch It should just fit like bolts in nuts If it don’t click I just give up
7.
It Pays to Sign On (free) 04:54
Verse 1 I’m a clunger – dole sponger Sucking your shit just like a plunger Not effected by the credit cruncher Always been able to avoid hunger Cash – don’t mean shit to me In school I wasn’t listening “But you’ll be skint with no degree” Why pay when you can get for free? I make money like a full time job Only I get to do what the fuck I want The tax payer – pays my wage Housing benefit helps me to save Electricity – that’s chipped mate Heating’s all economy 8 Or seven, I’m in financial heaven Sleep at midnight wake up at eleven TV license man - I’ll never let in The real world - will never get in It’s what I want to do, it’s what I want to do My biggest fear is working for you Chorus I could work – but I don’t wanna When I’ve benefits, tunes and marijuana I wake up – when I wanna Cuz I couldn’t be fucked with this 9 to 5 drama “You’re a waster – you’re a bum - raping my tax funds” But you slave for a wage that is minimum I got sick of being a low paid pawn And I clicked on quick that it pays – to sign on Verse 2 * Work - nada – I don’t wanna Flip those beds up in the Ramada Time on my hands– I’ve a lotta Love for my muckers driving their lada’s Second hand clothes I don’t wear Prada Full time job is not what Ivana Couldn’t stress more with a diacritic fada As long as my heart’s set like a Claddagh The best things in life are free So the birds and bees can have my money Verse 3 Don’t judge me – don’t do that Your tax funds the war in Iraq Sure most MPs have got two flats So I figure I’ll take a wee bit back Responsibility - I truly lack The minimum wage is fucking whack And fifteen year olds think I can rap So fuck work – I’m too cool to do that Working class – working class - I’m not working class Sure I don’t work – I just pass – my time away upon my ass But sometimes I started thinking bad thoughts like Fuck it – maybe I’ll get a job Cuz my life it seems far from full All I do is sit on my hole – sign the dole Go on the pull – to try and get my hole But listen kids – I’ve a mission Talking absolute shite for a livin’ Outro Don't you wish you didn't have a job like me? Don't you wish you wish that you could sleep in like me? Don't you wish you wish that you could be a bum like me? Don'tcha - Don'tcha
8.
Verse 1 You’re a bore – no style to mimic I’ve seen more craic in a rehab clinic More craic in asphalt – freshly paved Or post-botox to a youthful face This is pre-written – suitable for you I’ll end yer career send you to the bru Your lyrics are shite – I’ll give you advice Go audition for the Belfast version of 5ive You can’t rap – you’ve got no game I’ve a song about you – no one knows your name You’re a rip off – like Jewish foreskin tips “That makes no sense” – of course it did Uhh – I’ve a message that’s poignant Aim low – avoid disappointment I’ll put you’re words on life support – in a coma And make you known for shit things like Omagh Chorus Bee Mick See- He Can’t Rap All His – Beats are Whack Verse 2 I’ll fuck you up – like cystic fibrosis Mangle your head like cannabis psychosis You’re a haploid cunt – like meiosis I’ll rip you apart at the centre like mitosis Your centrioles’ll be fucked in the end You attacked with a fist – I’m back with a pen Got the balls to scrap – on stage you’re scundered A yellow wee bastard like Antrim colours Boojum staff’ll teach you how to rap The applause you get – triple tracked hand claps You’re fucking thick – like a pint of Guinness Why are ye pissed sure ignorance is bliss? In the documentary – who did we see? Not you – but we seen me You’re more hip hop – I forget the elements What the fuck’s knowledge if you’re not intelligent? Verse 3 You smacked me – I’m a better rapper Got the best of me – I’m still a better rapper Your more street – I’m a better rapper More hip hop – I’m still a better rapper Your rhymes are soft like heather laced meadows A poor man’s Belfast version of Devvo Other MCs hungry – you’re Lee Marvin With knock off flows – from the market Your rhymes are thin – like cheap wallpaper You couldn’t survive - if you were Gloria Gaynor Your words soft-core – like catchy kisses I’ve seen better rappers in Dunnes at Christmas I’ve no street cred – that don’t bother me I’m well known – no one’s even heard of ye I don’t give a fuck that you apologized Cuz I despise spides and the joys that they ride
9.
Chorus I Don’t want to be the future I want to be a loser I don’t want to win Verse 1 I chill… imitating a Buddhist Like vegetables – I’m full of goodness Talking shite – like Mystic Meg If I was a pint I’d be the dregs Back of class – slangin’ hash On the bru – still stackin’ cash The friendliest anti-social loner With the confidence of a street promoter I’m a laugh – like Fawlty Towers A bit better looking than Austin Powers But I’ve no game – like Donegal Celtic So I play at home between my pelvic Like Wacko Jacko - misunderstood Only I experienced my childhood It was nice, but shite – a stereotype Climbed trees, grazed knees and stolen bikes Verse 2 (Dunbar) I - don't – want to be a loser but it happens anyway Just like a daily boozing it happens everyday When I don't stay focused or keep my mind open Don't think of the future or where my life is goin’ I just sink - HMS depression... Don't have vocation or life profession I want to be prophetic but I'm just pathetic An apathetic youth overdosed & paralytic But I - calm down - learn to enjoy it Never going to find myself in full-time employment So I do what I can but keep making more mistakes The aches and the breaks let me know what is at stake It makes me contemplate - flying straight Hope I’m not passed - my sell by date from From living life on a whim I learned to drown before I learned to swim Maybe someday I'll figure out how to win Verse 3 Fuck with me you’re welcome to - do it If I said I was hard – I couldn’t prove it I capture fun – I’m a bastard son When it comes to sex - I’ve never won I work well hard - for fuck all pay A well liked rapper that can’t get laid A standup comic with the twat pack When I chat up girls - I get laughed at But still I try and wonder why Fifteen year olds have a better sex life Than Bee - that’s the truth I had a wasted youth Supervisors in work are younger than me I’ve 6 A-levels – no degree I’m 25 with university offers My ma still buys my boxers
10.
A Belfast Tea Party (free) 03:56
Chorus Trouble... Shankill to the Falls In Belfast City Violent and pretty Verse 1 Sectarian slogans – scrawled on our walls Graffitied areas – like Shankill and Falls Youths write things they don’t understand Don’t realize hate won’t make ‘em a man Brainless – half cut – kids slabberin’ Across the Watts at Protestants “Pastie Supper – Pastie Supper” Riotous taunts from unaware fuckers Head to a riot for a bit of craic Bouncing out of cars with baseball bats Getting’ lifted all cuz of stupid shit (Where’s the love?) Yous wee shits need hit from Cupid’s tip Getting blocked – shouting – at the top of your lungs “We don’t like yis orange cunts” Murals on the wall that say “Irish Out” It’s ironic – cuz we’re in Ireland now Fuck you with your sectarian slurs When you intimidate by paintin’ curbs On the Shankill – I don’t feel safe Sure prods feel the same on Falls estates We avoid areas – cuz of our religion That right there’s ironic – isn’t it? Verse 2 I meet this girl first day on the job She’s looking to know whether teig or prod Beating round the subject like a paramilitary A bit slow on it like the P&O ferry “What team you support? Where you from?” Uhhh… Celtic and Ireland But I don’t follow football - fuck the team “Are you red, white and blue? Or orange, white and green?” Who cares my views differ from you I probably kick with the wrong foot too I’m a teig – but not like Barbara De Brun If you’re a fucking snout I’d still like you I feel welcome with green, white and orange Red, white and blue makes me feel foreign When I hear a march – I feel abhorrent Like Wolf Tones playing the Antrim Forum Verse 3 Went for a swim in the Shankill baths The area’s dodgy – but the waves are class Met locals – and shared some fags It was sweet as til I heard ‘em say “Aye – smoke a butt – fire it this way I wouldn’t leave that to a fucking teig” I was all fuck you mate – under my breath And agreed cuz I said my name was Jeff No more flags – colours – paintings of guns No kill all teigs – no kill all huns No sectarian tunes – no hatred murals But I’m not for a PC world Talking to a guy bout a girl he just met “Dark hair – slim – with cracker breasts” Something all to common shot out his mouth “Aye she’s sweet – but she’s still a snout” Violence bread – from when you’re a kid Words from foul mouths warp your opinion Don’t raise kids with the hate you exhibit Don’t mould with the mental tattoo of a bigot
11.
Verse 1 Bee Mick See is a spide – a punk A yank - a cunt – a rapping bum Irish, yeo – sometimes drunk American, wha? – like a handgun Accent’s fucked like Lars Ulrich Raping the scene like – like Starbucks He is Airwaves – not bubblegum A shmuck – uncle – and all of the above Bee Mick See – is shy- a guy A gent – awry – with scalp so dry Intelligent – aye – sometimes high A tad bit slow – like The Green Mile Thrift shop style – a grown up child A pussy with – that salsa mild Chill like heroin – Oscar Wilde Living life with an awesome smile Chorus Now that it’s said ‘n’ done I’ll pen another one Cuz this has gone past having fun It’s what I’ve become I have starved without a crumb And that’s cuz I’m a stubborn bum I was shy when I begun But now my ego’s won Verse 2 Aww here I’m white – unfed – half bred With a couple of holes in my head For eatin’, breathin’, smellin’, seein’ Sleepin’ – with open Venetians I ain’t blind – I don’t sign I come through with an open mind I hear clearly – nearly Got great taste buds I hold dearly I eat minge – after it’s singed Pour my heart out before the binge I’m one to cringe My skin pale with pink it’s tinged Ambitions – of being Osiris Dodging the bullets of gingivitis I loved ’08 – not in the slightest Two deaths and a dose of laryngitis Bridge I’m fragile – like battery eggs Act a starvo while getting’ fed Hit the gym – then hit the veg A skinny shit with well-toned legs Working out does nout for me Five eleven (5’11”) – weigh one thirty (130lbs) Come gis a hug You’ll feel the bones I’m speaking of You fat cunts stop complainin’ I gained three pounds from sic months trainin’ I worked hard with little to show You gained weight sitting on your hole You wallow in pity – counting points I give it a go – wrecking my joints I’m content – as a twig You should be too eating like a pig Verse 3 Verse 3 Half Belfast – half septic tank Fucking up speech with Chris Eubank I’m going on the yank My head’s thinner than a – plank When I’m Castaway like – Tom Hanks I grab my wab for a Hillary Swank When I get praise my mind goes black “Bee – I love you” – Thanks Good with funds – I make Jews jealous I’m opening up like golf umbrellas I’m under zealous Watching my back like Monica Seles I’m sick – like the tip of my dick After a lick from a beautiful chick Or an uggo – I could get it up for a chubbo I may seem daft but smart like Columbo
12.

credits

released May 25, 2012

Written, Recorded and Produced by Bee Mick See
Executive Producers: Rocky O'Reilly and Paul Denver
Contributing musicians, rappers, helpers...
Kevin Graham, Kevin Jones, Stephen Faherty, Patreece Lundy, James "Sib" McCauley, Michael "Beefcake" Dempsey, David "Dee from pocket Billiards" Mulholland, Charlie Riley, Cara Cowan, Marty Riot, Slaine, Dunbar, Cushla Gillespie, Dave Hanna, Damien McErlean, Jim "Prince of Punx" Donaghy, Roysta, Taylor, Shunty McShunt, Barney, Charley Brown, Clare Hickey and my wee niece Lacey.

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Bee Mick See Belfast, UK

Born in Portland. Lives in Belfast.
Raps and composes music.

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