Wheelout
Here I come again…

Dem rob yuh wid tax

Wheel out. Here I come again. Run go tell yuh enemy, run go tell yuh fren. When me see de outfit a de living eye water. Blue. Like police and soldier. Dem nah rally round de ites, gold and green, cos dem heart and dem soul is not pure an clean. Me is not a thief in de street, me is not fighting de people wid dem guns an ammunition. Me nuh want rumours get spread, mek people tink Babylon I’m promoting.

Dem tell me to frank letter, frank, frank. A who dat? De woman a tell me bout lunch an break. Me let her know. ‘Man nah watch no clock, you can’t break me, an when me ready fe nyam, me ready fe nyam.’ She a gwaan like poppy show. Me call her dolly pot but she name Jennifer. Jennifer. Jennifer. Me call her, GINNALFA.

She skinny like a rake, her clothes a hang off, an her vibes, tell me seh, a pure fraud when she laugh. Fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud, fraud.

‘Mr Philogee,’ she seh to me, ‘you seem very angry’. Angry. Angry. Gi me de letters, letters, I n I nah let myself go. Move from me. A nuh angry me angry, an nuh vex me vex. Me can’t kick back, can’t relax, dem a watch you 24 an a rob yuh wid tax. Me do seven to four, seven to four, only one seven dem gi me, but two sevens clash. Week time me tek home £280 an mash. Me buy me weed, pay me bills, sip a Guinnes an Dragon, give man likkle thrill. Rasta still no have no money. So, Ginnalfa, gwaan talk, me a listen yuh words, smile an up an play, but true she nuh know, how I n I stay. Rastafari is de EVERLIVING soldier.

Let me frank you mail, frank, frank, frank, a yuh a get vank. Council can’t bun me pan me belly wid Babylon jelly. Rastaman know what it mean to have a revolution, de letters me franking wid bills an tax, is not de solution. Weekend come. Work done. Me a trod along an never look, a forward, me forward an nuh turning back. Rewind and come again.

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