Plymouth,a.k.a plymuff. plymouth is easly decibried in three ways.
1-shopping,cody,louies bernard,jjb.

2-“**** it up”,jesters,dance acdmy.

3-place ov ****,”budo” “swilly” “ham” “whitligh” “devonport”

A simple week for the janner **** will involve working as a dealer selling a few eights or quaters to the “beys”.earnig just enough money to buy some “white lightning” or “blue moon” cider or a few cans of stella.
After a hard week cutting nine bars of **** weed the **** janner will find himself drinking what ever alcohol he has to a rapid pace,necking as mush as pos in as little time as possible.After the drink has been sank the janner **** will catch the 43 or 46 bus and head to “union street” (a place only for aslym seekers,”pill eds” and best of all fights.After spending 4 hours dancing up stairs in “jesters” to the sound of dated hard house,the janner **** will be fuiled up on snakebite and black and ready to “kick off”,for example-“ere int you that bey that waked kenney down the pub,it is you init ya cont,er beys *** ere i aint gonna wack ya!!”this hunting culture will take place outside jesters.After the fight the janner **** will be on a set course for dance acadmy a.k.a “danci”,”d+a”. in “d+a” you will find the pumping sounds of more hardhouse,a little old school and tec-no.(janner ***** love this ****,and i mean love it with passion).After dropping a few “littles” or “douburys” the janner **** will be well “focked” now and needing a couple bongs for the intence come-down.
Making a “sturt” for ome the janner **** will do either more littles or sit happly in there flat smoking weed and listing to yet more hard house.
The next day the **** janner will wake at about 2 or 3 in the afternoon wack on his white la coste trainers blue nike jog bottoms and non washed burbury shirt from the night before, go down the shops and buy 10 l+b and a packet of blue rizzla not forgetting the famous cheese and onion pasty.
This type of **** happens every week were i come from and i must admit i hate those little conts who the fock doya think ya are ya focking little conts.
(all words based on real events and absloute truth i know cus ive been there and done it my-self)
cheers beys.

No, I’m not from Sunnydale, but instead from sunny Plymouth. Before I get done under the Trade Descriptions Act, it does actually piss it down most of the time; when it is sunny (pretty rare), those delightful rays are blocked out by a writhing mass of pure ****.

Yes, we have ****** in white Nikeys, scrotes in Von Dutch coats, twats in Burberry hats and janners in souped-up bangers all over the friggin place.
A typical day in Janners land will start with your average 13-15 yr old ******** ensuring little Chardonnay gets a nutritious breakfast. This will involve taking said trainee **** via taxi down to the nearest McD’s and praying to God (Nike or Hackett depending upon religion) that she gets home in time for Trisha. Meanwhile, the male **** of this happy ensemble will also be tucking into his petite dejeunner thanks to those nice people at HMP Dartmoor.
All the while, the local radio station, Plymouth Sound will be cranking out a few ****** tunes and mostly adverts for the local Lizzy Duke at Argos. However, herein lies a surprise. Only last Friday, the female presenter, Leanne (I kid you not!) said that the city centre was awash with Burberry wearing dickheads and ‘it was so 4 years ago!’ Good on you girl!

Later in the day, Plymouth ***** will realise that they are bereft of their one hope in the world – the lottery ticket! All around the city can be heard the immortal phrase ” I’m goin up Asdas an gettin me lottries”. (honestly, they really do say this – and any local will know that Janners ***** will add the letter S to anything.)

Approaching twilight and finally the real action starts. A glance at the Plymouth roads will yield the bystander to a totally free (and possibly deadly) Banger race meeting. Yep, all the usual souped up Novas, Fiestas and Saxo’s that managed to escape Sunday’s Scrapheap Challenge. However, even some of the licensed Hackney carriages have neon lights on their wipers!

And so, time to bed. (or in Janners **** speak, ‘and so, time to bed any old pissed up, fat ******** sporting almost bugger all clothes and a 99p thong that makes her look like Sunday’s roast pork joint)

That’s it for now, it’s getting dark and there’s **** slaying to be done.