Him sidung pon di caana
A tink bout him likkle dawta
Wid him gun inna him han
A listen to a Kartel song


Him feel di turse an hunger
An get consumed wid anger
Den decide fi touch di road
Fi go hussle a quick “food”


Wid nobady fi change him mind
An gi him di talk bout haad time
Because dem cyaa truly trus him
Wid him hawtless gun ting


poemsHim decide fi go rob a bar
Like him a some kinda star
But it neva did tek too long
Fi him spread out pon di grung


An off-duty cop having a drink
Neva gave him any time fi tink
One shot blast inna him head
An instantly him drop dead


The fineral was a social ting 
Wid frenz an family a bling
Remembering a good yute
Who police neva affi shoot


Di pastor, he spoke well
About heaven an hell
Saying dat a good man died
Leaving a mother and child


I sat in the back of the pew
Listening to the hypocrites too
Taking note of the very ones
Who nutured all his wrongs


Aneda ghetto yute is dead
Jus fi go hussle a “bread”
Again, a madda bears the pain
As no one wants to take di blame

Oakley Lyle is an author and poet – Visit his Facebook Page HERE



                     

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http://jablogz.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/poem.jpghttp://jablogz.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/poem-150x150.jpgOakley LylePoems
Him sidung pon di caana A tink bout him likkle dawta Wid him gun inna him han A listen to a Kartel songHim feel di turse an hunger An get consumed wid anger Den decide fi touch di road Fi go hussle a quick 'food'Wid nobady fi change him mind An gi him di talk bout...

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