Kept is a reality television series that centered on Jerry Hall (model and ex wife to Mick Jagger) searching for a kept man. The show premiered on the American cable network VH1 in late May 2005. When Hall narrowed the list down to twelve, she spirited them off to London and eliminated them one by one.
The final three consisted of Anwar, Austen and Seth. In the August 4 finale, Hall was torn between Austen and Seth but ultimately chose Seth as he knew how to have fun and she thought he had matured throughout the process. Seth claims that he got his $100 000 in prize money but after filming stopped he never saw Jerry, the penthouse apartment, or the Lamborghini again.
The show, when aired in the United Kingdom on the channel VH1 UK, caused a small controversy when adverts were banned from London Underground stations. The posters in question depicted Jerry Hall holding a leash, surrounded by several young semi-dressed men, and this violated London Underground's policy of adverts featuring people as sex objects. However, the posters were on display in other locations including mainline railway stations.
I watched the flames, slow and strange
It lit the walls and filled my eyes
I heard your voice through the noise
I was cold and it was warm inside
And I should have kept my hands
I should have kept my arms inside
I believe it now
I should have kept my head
I should have kept my heart
My heart
Shooting stars, falling leaves
And the more things change, well, the more I sleep
Well, I took her heart and I licked her wounds
Then morning came and it felt like truth
But I, I should have kept my hands
I should have kept my arms inside
Yeah, I believe it now
I should have kept my head
I should have kept my heart
My heart
And I'm on my knees
And I should have kept my hands
I should have kept my arms inside
Yeah, I believe you now
I should have kept my head
I should have kept my heart
I'm a b-boy
That's the best way to define me
Born in '81, been rhymin' since the early 90's
And I don't plan on stoppin' any time soon
That's why fools try to be down with my crew
What you recitin' feeble chatter (?), either that or beatin' off
Peace to no-name breathin' patterns that'll leave 'em lost
I keep a choke-chain on the people's thoughts
Teach the whole game how to read between the chalk
Okay, we so crazy, don't play me, just pay me you babies
I break teeth on fake freaks (?), and maybe, just maybe, you might live
That's solely dependent on you mic skills
You rap slowly homie, no regard for what's ill
Still I hope you're not the nicest of you teammates
I'm your worst nightmare, you're like a whack MC's dream date
A walking target, plus an awful artist, what you talk is often fucking garbage
The public regrets the fact they have to hear your music
What you call spittin' looks more like involuntary droolin'
Say I'm stupid for entertainin' rumors but I heard you give your favorite producer head in trade for his creative juices
We makin' music, just tryna put the fun back in
Turntablism, lyricism, ain't no gun packin'
It's hard to swallow, even my simple sing(?)
So bitin's not recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists
I step on snakes any yes I make a mess on tape cassettes with
My brother, ain't no other quite like my mellow, my man
So Abilities, lemme hear you make some funky music with your hands
Wall lights(?), solo, drums and vocals
Guaranteed to put your attention span in a choke-hold
PEACE
We just representin' for the hip-hoppers world-wide, MC's, DJ's, b-boys, raff-writers, everybody in the house
Yeah, Blueprint in the house, uh-huh
Daylight in the house, uh-huh
E-Wok in the house, yeah
Mr. Dibbs in the house, uh-huh
X-Cal in the house, uh
Abomination's in the house, uh
Headshot's in the house, yeah