Keyboard Gangsters

Yo, here comes jimmy with his internet crew,

Talking 'bout shootings like he’s got something to prove.

“Bang bang, I’ll get you!” — bro,

calm yourself down, You’re typing from your bedroom in a dressing gown.

Claims he’s a gangster,

says he’s running the streets,

But the only

thing he’s running is his Wi-Fi

on repeat.

Gangsta lifestyle? Nah, you’re living a lie,

The only shots you’re firing are shots of your Wi-Fi.

So keep typing, tough guy,

keep playing pretend, Your gangster career ends when your screen time ends.

(yeah, ends!)

Talking real tough with his profile picture mean,

Mum shouts from downstairs,

“Your dinner’s getting cold,

Jim!” Keyboard killer, internet thug,

Threatening everybody while he’s sitting on the rug.

“Got a weapon!”

— mate, what have you got?

A butter knife from the kitchen and a Tesco bag of snacks?

He says, “I’ll shoot you,” trying to sound insane,

Then his broadband cuts out and he starts crying in pain.

Big bad gangster with his anonymous account,

Talking like the whole damn city needs to watch out.

But if somebody rings the doorbell,

suddenly he’s shy— “Mum,

can you get that?

I don’t wanna go outside!” Then Mad-tee rolls in — the professional

mate, Brown-nosing everybody just to stay in the gate.

No job, no boss,

no shifts to attend,

But he’s online brown-nosing from beginning to end.

He’s mastered the art of agreeing on command,

Tell him the sky is purple — “Absolutely,

grand!” He’s got no opinions,

just whatever gets applause,

If arse-kissing paid wages,

Mad-tee would own half the cause. (shhh)

Then Mariah hits the DMs,

sliding in slick, One “hey you 👀” and she’s straight to the

next pick. Men’s inboxes buzzing,

her name on the screen,

She’s got more private chats than Mad-tee’s got a routine.

No comment-section cameo, she skips that whole scene,

Straight into the inbox like she’s part of the team.

“Hey stranger, how you been?” — same line,

same play, If one bloke leaves her on read,

there’s another on the way.

Inbox after inbox, she’s working the queue,

One man gets a message,

then another one too.

Mad-tee’s sat at home while she’s working the crowd,

He’s brown-nosing online while she’s browsing about.

And somehow this household thinks everything’s fine,

Mad-tee’s got his wife and Mariah all sharing the line.

Three people, one house — what a plot twist to tell,

It’s less “modern family” and more “who rang the bell?”

And Jimmy’s wife deserves a mention in this show,

Married to a keyboard gangster — how did that go?

She may have a big head,

but here’s the real kicker: You’d think there’d be more brains behind

marrying Twitter’s toughest keyboard flicker.

Jimmy thinks he’s feared,

Mad-tee thinks he’s slick,

Mariah’s in the DMs with another quick “x” to click.

Between all three of you,

there’s enough drama to spare,

You don’t need Netflix — just check Facebook and they’re there.

Gangsta lifestyle?

Nah, you’re living a lie,

The only shots you’re firing are shots of your Wi-Fi.

So keep typing, tough guy,

keep playing pretend, Your gangster career ends when your screen time ends.

You’re not Scarface, mate,

you’re barely a threat— You’re a Facebook notification people haven’t blocked yet.

Jimmy’s all mouth, Mad-tee’s all ass,

Mariah’s all DMs, Three internet legends nobody actually needs them.

You wanted to look feared,

you wanted to look slick— But you’re not the main characters… you’re

the ads people skip.