preacher pastor priest teach believe
god's garden, eve, reach
those two tree's:
birth to burials
i'm the jungle garfield with Pi's eyes
but it's undead, the doll's cat on 9-lives
that's infinity like the minute he rewinded, rewired the eternity
baobab of knowledge
hey use the scriptures
as scripts to chain us, this devil nature
we django to the shackles
no chain on my ankles
people 'r evil, don't be naive
pity nobody warned EEB
you see, fruits is poisoned
waters bleed peace
victory hyms from Igbo slaves
history wins deep
i wonder but a lot
like how mama alkebulan got
all these viruses
her children riding in an ambulance
down a slippery slop like avelanche
welcome to never-land
pain never the right-hand
emergencies, cries & crises
the elite ambience be,
a pain in the gut,
so who really run world,
i'm the cat that runs rat to the rut!
I'm Ron Atkinson's rant,
I thought the mike was off,
the nigga comparison wack.
Babe body building,
she bullied bulimia.
Burnt boulders on shoulders,
Kim killed lukemia.
Foster father found ataraxia in anorexia,
Brucelin, can't erase the her.
modern day slavery
men lack chivalry
sold like paintings by avery
heavy atmosphere like co2 airy
when children's innocence is tampered with by grown men,
the fairy forsaken mary
thoughts of having a daughter,
i grow weary
just the other day they snatched a young girl on christmas,
a day not so merry
fruits of future, detached way too early,
make a b* from a berry.
no courting instead making courtisians of companions
a traffic of men trafficking women
an issue that the west is sleeping on.
while the east keeps on
we tryna climb over and conquer this problem but on everest we keepin' slippin' off
turn on safe-mode in this world, so dangerous you would swear it's been off
the spin-off is the epidemic
skinny skeletal - don't pump iron she anaemic
more cut than mutilation
more touching that a story of molestasion
buying a women, a disease amongst men spread quick - infestation waiting patiently for a relative
snatched at the station...
life's retractable iron claws like cat-ion.
selling dreams, i ain't buying in
in it to win
same doctors that heal us,
bill us only to kill us
these trained killers
you got no rights,
get no favours
with no papers
all things even religion defective
with no incentives
Neentyantyambo ezizalelwe kwimithimbo,
emanzini amtoti ziyabuna
zitshabalale zide ziphele.
Thina, besingobani na kakade ukucinga ukuba sizophila ngonaphakade?
I've rested my rolls-royce horse before,
with pigs in the mud
This is not animal farm.
Keep my name clean, warning one.
the tossing, turning
drooling, snoring and restlessnes
the turpsy-turvy of night
What I want is what I need
In this monetary-mad-managed world,
I am grateful to the dollar that got me freed.
Was it ambition that was gravely turned to greed?
A randela is all I really need.
If success were physical, I'd surely plant that seed.
I need it like an orphanage with a million mouths to feed.
Even more than the school under the tree without books for the children to read.
I need it more than a dopehead needs weed.
It is of me, an intergral part of me like blood, let it bleed.
The end is near,
THE LAST OF A DYING BREED
I suppose it will be my minimal good deeds that will allow me to parade through the Lion's gates and because I want it, I need it, maybe get my own title deed,
Indeed, life was better before the money.
You ask what is this?
It moves from pocket to pocket.
It enabled the thug to get fake dockets.
The same curse that gifted you a chance to get your daughter a locket.
Money trees will evil roots, destroyed so much I'd never mock it. Watered down we are swimming in backwash kicking upstream trying to catch the cash banks flow
till you can’t walk
till you are sore
yet smile when you find
a new thrill once lost
till pebbles of pleasure
part every pore
as breath of yours
traps every word
and my first name
is the last you know
till my voice is your soul
sole sound your lobes yearn for
is to feel (safe and) sound
rest my head on your breast, listen and enjoy
a melody composed with your words for notes
to form a wonderful harmony like you
you sing ballads and autobiographies
before they created duets with mine
i listen to narratives of your dreams,
little boys who shattered your glass heart,
and things that tickle your eye-ducts
abduct your smile as tears erupt
an inner world of wishes
she deserves things of beauty
The Nubian Queen.