dem dung a grung,
kick dem ass,
sen dem paas justice
to prison walls of gloom.
but di breddah dem a scank;
dem naw rab bank;
is pakit dem a pick
an is woman dem a lick
an is run dem a run when di wicked come.
DOUBLE SCANK
I woz jus about fi move fahwod,
tek a walk tru di markit,
an sus di satdey scene—
yu know whe a mean—
when I site breddah Buzza
bappin in style
comin doun FRONT LINE.
him site a likkle sistah
him move fi pull a scank
but she soon sus him out
seh him dont in her rank;
soh when shame reach him,
him pap a smile,
scratch him chin,
but di sistah couda si tru him grin:
breddah Buzza coudn do a single ting.
“Hail, Buzza!” I greet him.
“Love!” him greet I back.
“I a look a money, Buzza;
come fahwod wid some dunny.”
di breddah seh him bruk
him seh him naw wok
him seh him woman a breed
him seh him don’t even hav a stick a weed.
but I site diffrant:
di bookie man jus done tek him fi a ride!
DREAD BEAT AN BLOOD
brothers an sisters rocking
a dread beat pulsing fire burning
chocolate hour an darkness creeping night
black veiled night is weeping
electric lights consoling night
a small hall soaked in smoke
a house of ganja mist
music blazing sounding thumping fire blood
brothers an sisters rocking stopping rocking
music breaking out bleeding out thumping out fire burning
electric hour of the red bulb
staining the brain with a blood flow
an a bad bad thing is brewing
ganja crawling, creeping to the brain
cold lights hurting breaking hurting
fire in the head an a dread beat bleeding beating fire dread
rocks rolling over hearts leaping wild
rage rising out of the heat an the hurt
an a fist curled in anger reaches a her
then flash of a blade from another to a him
leaps out for a dig of a flesh of a piece of skin
an blood bitterness exploding fire wailing blood and bleeding
FIVE NIGHTS OF BLEEDING
(for Leroy Harris)
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1
madness . . . madness . . .
madness tight on the heads of the rebels
the bitterness erupts like a hot-blast
broke glass
rituals of blood on the burning
served by a cruel in-fighting
five nights of horror an of bleeding
broke glass
cold blades as sharp as the eyes of hate
an the stabbings
it’s war amongst the rebels
madness . . . madness . . . war.
2
night number one was in brixton
soprano B sound system
was a beating out a rhythm with a fire
coming doun his reggae-reggae wire
it was a soun shaking doun your spinal column
a bad music tearing up your flesh
an the rebels them start a fighting
the yout them jus turn wild
it’s war amongst the rebels
madness . . . madness . . . war.
3
night number two doun at shepherd’s
right up railton road
it was a night named Friday
when everyone was high on brew
or drew a pound or two worth a kally
soun coming doun neville king’s music iron
the rhythm jus bubbling an back-firing
raging an rising, then suddenly the music cut
steel blade drinking blood in darkness
it’s war
