Allison Blyth Whore ❤️

About London

So, Whore—she’s this brassy tart, works the streets near my shop. Got hair redder than a furnace fire, and a laugh that’d wake the dead. Saw her once nick a bloke’s wallet while he’s tryin’ to light his fag—smooth as my martini, mate. “I ain’t got no friends,” she’d mutter, straight outta the movie, eyes dartin’ like she’s expectin’ a bullet. Made me chuckle, that did—proper cheeky, innit? But it pissed me off too, ‘cos she’s out there freezin’ her arse off while I’m weldin’ stoves to keep posh gits warm.

‘The Whore’s Son’

Listen to Mac - Run Run Run (Ryan Blyth Remix) by s-pectrum playlist on desktop and mobile dirty fucking coke.

We head over to this place, and let me tell you, the chips are massive! I’m talking about the size of my hand. I’m stuffing my face, and it’s glorious. We’re laughing, reminiscing about the good old days, and I’m feeling on top of the world.

Blyth town centre apartment scheme takes a step forward