Benjamin Zephaniah
'De Rong Song' is made available courtesy of ARIWA MUSIC
Poems in this collection:
AS AN
AFRICAN Text and Audio
De Rong Song Text and Audio
The President is
Dead Again Text
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Benjamin Zephaniah
'De Rong Song' is made available courtesy of ARIWA MUSIC
|
|
Poems in this collection: |
AS AN
AFRICAN Text and Audio |
AS AN AFRICAN As an African I danced to riddims wild in Nicaragua I overstood dem well. As an African I did not celebrate 200 years of Australia, I overstand its history is black. As an African I went to find Palestine, I got confused on de West Bank, An as a African Palestine is important. As an African I grew old, I went an sat down wid an reasoned wid Mr Ayatalloh. Mr Ayatalloh told me fe mind me own business, An so did Mr President USA. Mrs Thatcher didn't even talk to me. As an African a plastic bullet hit me in Northern Ireland, But me children overstood an dey grew strong, As a African I was a woman in a man's world, A man in a computer world A fly on de wall of China, A Rastafarian diplomat, An a miner in Wales. I was a red hot Eskimo, A peace luvin hippie, A honest newscaster, A city dwelIing peasant, I was a Arawak, A unwanted baby, A circumcised lady, I was all a dis An still a African.
DE RONG SONG Your house is Falling down Around Your Feet, And you got Nought To eat, Don't worry Be happy Your fish Have drowned You wear A frown, You search But you don't Own a pound, Don't worry Be happy You ain't got Nowhere to Play, Just balconies And Motorways, Don't worry Be happy. You meet Someone You really like, They tell you to Get on your bike, Don't worry Be happy You're on your bike And all is fine, You get caught In a washing line, Don't worry Be happy You go to school The school is Gone, The Government Put pressure on, Don't worry Be happy You worry Because You're hurrying, And hurry Because You're worrying, Don't happy Be worried.
The President is Dead Again
Believe me Mr President General Some Africans want to die at home these are not lazy men These are men of words The men your people love So now boss Point your guns at your paymaster And Shoot Take your British arms and shoot Shoot Your feet, Watch your blood and the soil fraternise. This soil is already dead. Your corporate friends and city planners have died Like the soil you killed They be Dead, dead, dead How does it feel to be buried Or incinerated? President General and friends Some Africans want to die at home A natural death With drummers and the tribe at hand. A hummingbird tells me dat Your jails are full of activists Activists dat are full of life The vendor who sold you dat Pretty, pretty work of art And the palace for its comfort Cannot sell you the silence of the earth community Or a silent history of your deed, Hence I see a day dead Mr President When your very lovers shall look to earth Asking Why? Look Look Check dis We are watching you, You do dark we see light After all, We are the world. How many prisoners throats can you cut before you reach hell? How many children can you stop from growing up? And remember now Your business friends will leave you They will be Gone, Gone, Gone, Long before your financial returns. De brothers on de streets who sey respect Sey no respect Because yu disrespect And A hummingbird tells me dat Worms are eating you Before you eat the worms, You really need to be buried. Why? You a warrior wid a poxy mind Why Hang your doctor? Why send your historians to western capitals? Listen, listen Listen to me man Run, run, run Find a planet wid no Africa And act White De devil will luv you. Believe me Mr President General Some Africans want to die at home Let me introduce you to the mothers They run the universities What future do you have for them? Say now TeII the BBC, Then Cry, cry, cry All the way to the bank. Mr President General you suck. A burning spear is here It came from within To burn your serenity, So sit on your throne Godlike for now Because you will not be celebrated You suck presidentially And the universe knows it. How come you so educated But you know not the size of Africa You foolish sucker, Your dream of being Mr Nigeria is foolish too Listen, Read, Tek dis in, Hell is no fun so Breathe in Burn yourself, You will have no wages to pay And no one will care, Breathe in Get your fire on the double, ILet me assure you that you will be Remembered For Something. Bad night Mr President Don't have faith Don't hope And do not wish for forgiveness Juss Run, run, run As slowly as you can And You may be buried Soon, All alone, Your corporate friends will be like you Elsewhere, And Those singers and those poets Will Appear. For Ken Saro-Wiwa and his comrades. Benjamin Zephaniah