Like Black Rob’s ‘Whoa’ or Deep’s ‘Creep’, the title’s rammed down your throat at the end of every line in a bid to goad crowds. While the constant cursing will drive the passive crazy, angst-fuelled supporters are invited to hang onto Akala’s every word as he rampages through a hefty, piano-scaring blacklist, slamming everything from congestion charges to English climate.
3 Out Of 5
Reviewed By: Matt Oliver
