My Old Home

So yeah, basically A lot of people ask me how life was then So here it is My old home smelled of good birth Boiled red beans, kernel oil and hand me down poetry It's brick white-washed walls widowed by first paint The tin roof top humming songs of promise while time is Locked into demonic rhythm with the leaves The trees had to win Hugging them, loving them a torturous love Buggin' when It was over and done The round cemented pot kept the rain drops cool Neighbors and dwellers spatter in the pool Kids playing football with his hand and sock We had what we got, and it wasn't a lot No one knew they were poor We were all innocent to greeze judgment The country was combusting with life like a long hibernating volcano With a long tale of success like J-Lo Farmers, fishers, fighters, even fools had a place in production The coastal line was the place of seduction The coral reef make you daze in reflection The women walked with grace and perfection And we just knew we were warriors too Nothing morbid, its true We were glorious Boom! Then one day it came Spoiled up a ray like rain Like oil in a flame, it pained The heart attack sudden Odder than eleven Harder than a punch in the womb Harder than the lunch you consume For us, it had a cancerous fume, more lust Men who made killing hoggies, Selling prout fully like healthy livestock It made tides rock with a diligent mock Confused are the people, infused in the evil Professed to eject like Jews in the sequel, to win It came in the morning, with a warning and without The hurting was a burden, only certain was doubt A mythical tale, no soul knows well Liberty went to hell, freedom called for shells Fierce was the blow, keep your ears to the show It appears Orwell was right in '84 Had big brother kill Mother in her store With all of us watching, we didn't lover her anymore Peep my poem, Mother was my old home Good winners looted, in my old home Religion is burned down, in my old home Kindness is shackled, in my old home Justice has been raped, in my old home Murderers hold post, in my old home The land, bombers, ghosts, in my old home We got pistols with eyes, corruption and lies Trusting snakes, and death without breaks Suspicious new borns live in our horn Used to the pain, rack bodies not grain Chopped limbs not trees Spend lives not wealth Seek vengeance not truth, the craziest youth Hoist pain not plans, nigga' fuck your parents Bandits will beat us down, in my old home Rumors are law now, in my old home Sedatives of faith, in my old home Rapists are praised, in my old home Demonds dressed well, in my old home Infants are nailed, in my old home Spirits are jailed, in my old home Grudges grow tails, in my old home High roads of sea in electric Hayden Outward labor beneath stubborn faith Our farms produce guilty grub and Our kids depend on shifty luck, see Our muse is life for death is old, so Don't blame me for truth I told, say Good winners looted, in my old home Religion is burned down, in my old home Kindness is shackled, in my old home Justice has been raped, in my old home Murderers hold post, in my old home The land, bombers, ghosts, in my old home