JUNKY MARN Junky marn, I am a drugie, Rags, me, I dress in, But talk me no shit marn, Coz I hate small talkers, They coz are lot of non-sense, Mostly with the wrong message. In paradise, I live junky, “Rich man’s son wearing rags”, Mothers sitting at the gates say, To the women who rest under shady tress, Surely, heaven it is, but junky I am, They look as me walk pass and say, “So skinny, so thin, what a drug body,” But to those who know me, I am gold, I carry the things they want, I am not a dealer marn, Coz a dealer marn can be and is, But I am Jah Messiah. Da Drug-heads; they come to me, They follow the path down to the junk can, And there I come out the junky marn, To feed them and fill up their need, Hungriest are those who didn’t smoke last night, Sobos too; plenty of them smoking nowadays, And some Namus; they cannot stop once they start, Those are what we call steam ships or babygo trailers, So ask me; Am I drug body ah? Yes Sir, and worse drug-head I am.
Posted on: Mon, 22 Jul 2013 13:00:58 +0000
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