I just saw a poetry teacher say that we should write in our own way,
Speak in our own dialectic tongue,
No fancy poetic language, just rap our crap as we would in the neighbourhoods where we belong,
Don’t fret about scansion, or rhyme, or rhythm, or our own distinctive dialectic style being understood,
And to be fair it just made me smile and think, “Ok, good,”
So I started thinking, “well, how do I speak, as a modern day Brit?”
“I mean conversationally without it sounding shit,”
Then, “Bob’s your uncle,” it just came to me, 
I’ll just write down any old, "Shite," as if conversationally,
See, contrary to popular opinion, we’re not all, “Downton Abbey,” when we speak,
Or, “Dick Van Dyke,” in Mary Poppins ‘cos his cockney accent was fucking weak,
I mean, seriously? “Mary Poppins shtip in toyme,” bloody hell man, get a grip,
We don’t talk like that, but well done for trying I s’pose, now stop dancing on that roof, you’ll slip,
It’s a difficult one, "Innit," trying to get it right?
But here’s a few, "Pointers," and I’ll try and, "Keep it light,"
So open your, "Shell likes," and your "Minces," ‘cos they’re like, "Piss holes in the snow,"
And we’ll have a, "Butchers," at dialect, ‘cos it might be useful to know,
Now we’re a lot more, “Sweary,” that you might reckon when in conversation,
For instance we can use the, “C word,” like you use punctuation,
And to us, “Nob,” means penis, and, “ Fanny,” does not mean, “Ass,”
But rather refers to the, “Front bottom,” and not the, “Khyber Pass,”
If someone thinks you’re great, they’ll likely call you, “Dench,”
And yes, it’s very sexist if someone calls you, “Wench,”
And if you,  "Take a tumble," you’ve gone, “Arse over tit,”
“The dog’s bollocks,” means awesome, but, “Dogs dinner,” means it’s shit,
And your, “Pants,” are not your trousers, but are your, “Undercrackers,”
And, “Knackered,” means your tired, though your testicles are, “Knackers,”
And finally in closing and so I don’t, “Chunter on,” forever,
A, “Munter,” is a, “Minger,” and neither are, “Too clever,”
But please, “Don’t shoot the messenger,” now that the, “Gen’s,” been passed,
‘Cos I could, “Spin another yarn,” I just, “Can’t be arsed.”