Manners tek yu thru' di worl'.
Jamaican proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Fit & Legit
Sey put ye hand up inna the air, hand up inna the air, hand up inna the air
You an ye man gone clear
Put ye hand up inna the air, hand up inna the air
Rule year to year
Dutty yeah
Becau ye fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wan run come tek set
Woman ye know ye naffi mek no check
Cau ye fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wan run come tek set
Woman ye know ye done copperset
Cause a you run the district
Ye move like electric
And nuff gal a try trick up ye man an mek him exit
But ye still a benefit becau ye rallyback with
Dem can't tek a thing because a you got the permit
In any case gal ye dunn run the place
If she show up her face then she gwain get erased
She a petty case up inna the one slap race
An ye dunn know already sey ye control the place
Woman ye fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wanna run come tek set
Woman ye know ye naffi tek no check
Becau ye fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wan run come tek set
Woman ye know ye naffi tek no check
Because a long time ye inna the biz
Who this gal ya think she is
She pose up 'pon ye man an she no got not a backitif
Can't live how ye live an ye man him nah go give
No respect to her becau the body it a negative
Sey pon ye property dem wan come bounce
But dem nah get a inch nor a ounce
Gal yaffi mek dem know
Sey if dem wan come clean
Nuff a that alone dem a go get becau ye an ye man him still a team
Fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wanna run come tek set
Woman ye know ye naffi tek no check
Becau ye fit an ye legit woman ye know sey ye man jus nah lef
Matta how dem gal ya want flex like harlot
Couldn't matta how dem gal ya wanna run come tek set
Woman ye know ye naffi tek no check
Becau daily
See the fence an want come scale it
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song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shake That Thing
[Intro]
Yeah!
Well dey a hav some bwoy a gwaan like dem a gal short
(Dem a get caught)
Yuh bwoy a dem mind a nuh too sharp
Yuh dun kno say right now,
Blackshot and Sean-A-Paul a lef dem inna di dark
(Dutty Yeah!)
True to our ways jus gimme di light and pass di dro
Dey gyals a likein pon our flow
Hear what I say now rudebwoy
Di girls nuh waan nuh friars nuh connivers
Watch out let me talk to har den
[Chorus]
Girl it is on, at four o' clock in di morn'
An I been watchin' you shake dat ting
Man dem a try, dem a get deny
Caw I'm gonna tek dat ting
Girl it is mine, a long time me a line
An pan we fi waan you to shake dat ting
Gyal dem a round an
Dem a try tek yuh crown
A nuff a dem just, ain't nothing
[Verse]
Dat ting a weh yuh got dey
Weh yuh get it from, a mus yuh mama
Do you fault dey, from me like a champion a bubble pon di
Chart dey, gyal a look yuh hav me
A we waan to slap dey from di front an to di back dey
From di bed an to di matinee,
We haffi blow, pull out di guns an pop pop
It's dey fault dey, energy dey dey a so dey gimme di buff
An look pon me, baby put it on me
Right a now yuh mek di Dutty dap a feel horny
[Chorus]
Girl it is on, at four o' clock in di morn'
An I been watchin' you shake dat ting
Man dem a try, dem a get deny
Caw I'm gonna tek dat ting
Girl it is mine, a long time me a line
An pan we fi waan you to shake dat ting
Gyal dem a round an
Dem a try tek yuh crown
A nuff a dem just, ain't nothing
[Verse]
From yuh step up inna di place, dance just light up
Man dem a run alla dem chase an dem a hype up
Which one, a which one a dem a get it first, fight up
Looks like dem man dey a go up inna di Fight Club
I can ear dem say, gyal yuh body look ripe up
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song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shake Dat Thing
Shake That Thing"
[Intro]
Yeah!
Well dey a hav some bwoy a gwaan like dem a gal short
(Dem a get caught)
Yuh bwoy a dem mind a nuh too sharp
Yuh dun kno say right now,
Blackshot and Sean-A-Paul a lef dem inna di dark
(Dutty Yeah!)
True to our ways jus gimme di light and pass di dro
Dey gyals a likein pon our flow
Hear what I say now rudebwoy
Di girls nuh waan nuh friars nuh connivers
Watch out let me talk to har den
[Chorus]
Girl it is on, at four o' clock in di morn'
An I been watchin' you shake dat ting
Man dem a try, dem a get deny
Caw I'm gonna tek dat ting
Girl it is mine, a long time me a line
An pan we fi waan you to shake dat ting
Gyal dem a round an
Dem a try tek yuh crown
A nuff a dem just, ain't nothing
[Verse]
Dat ting a weh yuh got dey
Weh yuh get it from, a mus yuh mama
Do you fault dey, from me like a champion a bubble pon di
Chart dey, gyal a look yuh hav me
A we waan to slap dey from di front an to di back dey
From di bed an to di matinee,
We haffi blow, pull out di guns an pop pop
It's dey fault dey, energy dey dey a so dey gimme di buff
An look pon me, baby put it on me
Right a now yuh mek di Dutty dap a feel horny
[Chorus]
Girl it is on, at four o' clock in di morn'
An I been watchin' you shake dat ting
Man dem a try, dem a get deny
Caw I'm gonna tek dat ting
Girl it is mine, a long time me a line
An pan we fi waan you to shake dat ting
Gyal dem a round an
Dem a try tek yuh crown
A nuff a dem just, ain't nothing
[Verse]
From yuh step up inna di place, dance just light up
Man dem a run alla dem chase an dem a hype up
Which one, a which one a dem a get it first, fight up
Looks like dem man dey a go up inna di Fight Club
[...] Read more
song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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When Albani Sang
Was workin' away on de farm dere, wan
morning not long ago,
Feexin' de fence for winter--'cos dat's
w'ere we got de snow!
W'en Jeremie Plouffe, ma neighbor, come
over an' spik wit' me,
'Antoine, you will come on de city,
for hear Ma-dam All-ba-nee?'
'W'at you mean?' I was sayin' right off, me,
'Some woman was mak' de speech,
Or girl on de Hooraw Circus, doin' high
kick an' screech?'
'Non--non,' he is spikin'--'Excuse me,
dat's be Ma-dam All-ba-nee
Was leevin' down here on de contree, two
mile 'noder side Chambly.
'She's jus' comin' over from Englan', on
steamboat arrive Kebeck,
Singin' on Lunnon an' Paree, an' havin'
beeg tam, I expec',
But no matter de moche she enjoy it, for
travel all roun' de worl',
Somet'ing on de heart bring her back here,
for she was de Chambly girl.
'She never do not'ing but singin' an' makin'
de beeg grande tour
An' travel on summer an' winter, so mus' be
de firs' class for sure!
Ev'ryboddy I'm t'inkin' was know her, an' I
also hear 'noder t'ing,
She's frien' on La Reine Victoria an' show
her de way to sing!'
'Wall,' I say, 'you're sure she is Chambly,
w'at you call Ma-dam All-ba-nee?
Don't know me dat nam' on de Canton--I hope
you're not fool wit' me?'
An' he say, 'Lajeunesse, dey was call her,
before she is come mariée,
But she's takin' de nam' of her husban'--I
s'pose dat's de only way.'
'C'est bon, mon ami,' I was say me, 'If I get
t'roo de fence nex' day
An' she don't want too moche on de monee den
mebbe I see her play.'
So I finish dat job on to-morrow, Jeremie he
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poem by William Henry Drummond
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Advice
W'EN you full o' worry
'Bout yo' wo'k an' sich,
W'en you kind o' bothered
Case you can't get rich,
An' yo' neighboh p'ospah
Past his jest desu'ts,
An' de sneer of comerds
Stuhes yo' heaht an' hu'ts,
Des don' pet yo' worries,
Lay 'em on de she'f,
Tek a little trouble
Brothah, wid yo'se'f.
Ef a frien' comes mou'nin'
'Bout his awful case,
You know you don' grieve him
Wid a gloomy face,
But you wrassle wid him,
Try to tek him in;
Dough hit cracks yo' features,
Law, you smile lak sin,
Ain't you good ez he is?
Don' you pine to def;
Tek a little trouble
Brothah, wid yo'se'f.
Ef de chillun pestahs,
An' de baby's bad,
Ef yo' wife gits narvous,
An' you're gettin' mad,
Des you grab yo' boot-strops,
Hol' yo' body down,
Stop a-tinkin' cuss-w'rds,
Chase away de frown,
Knock de haid o' worry,
Twell dey ain' none lef';
Tek a little trouble,
Brothah, wid yo'se'f.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Hunting Song
Tek a cool night, good an' cleah,
Skiff o' snow upon de groun';
Jes' 'bout fall-time o' de yeah
W'en de leaves is dry an brown;
Tek a dog an' tek a axe,
Tek a lantu'n in yo' han',
Step light whah de switches cracks,
Fu' dey 's huntin' in de lan'.
Down thoo de valleys an' ovah de hills,
Into de woods whah de 'simmon-tree grows,
Wakin' an' skeerin' de po' whippo'wills,
Huntin' fu' coon an' fu' 'possum we goes.
Blow dat ho'n dah loud an' strong,
Call de dogs an' da'kies neah;
Mek its music cleah an' long,
So de folks at home kin hyeah.
Blow it twell de hills an' trees
Sen's de echoes tumblin' back;
Blow it twell de back'ard breeze
Tells de folks we 's on de track.
Coons is a-ramblin' an' 'possums is out;
Look at dat dog; you could set on his tail!
Watch him now--steady,--min'--what you 's about,
Bless me, dat animal's got on de trail!
Listen to him ba'kin now!
Dat means bus'ness, sho 's you bo'n;
Ef he's struck de scent I 'low
Dat ere 'possum's sholy gone.
Knowed dat dog fu' fo'teen yeahs,
An' I nevah seed him fail
Wen he sot dem flappin' eahs
An' went off upon a trail.
Run, Mistah 'Possum, an' run, Mistah Coon,
No place is safe fu' yo' ramblin' to-night;
Mas' gin' de lantu'n an' God gin de moon,
An' a long hunt gins a good appetite.
Look hyeah, folks, you hyeah dat change?
Dat ba'k is sha'per dan de res'.
Dat ere soun' ain't nothin' strange,--
Dat dog's talked his level bes'.
Somep'n' 's treed, I know de soun'.
Dah now,--wha 'd I tell you? see!
Dat ere dog done run him down;
Come hyeah, he'p cut down dis tree.
Ah, Mistah 'Possum, we got you at las'--
Need n't play daid, laying dah on de groun';
Fros' an' de 'simmons has made you grow fas',--
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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To Charles Baxter
OUR Johnie's deid. The mair's the pity!
He's deid, an' deid o' Aqua-vitae.
O Embro', you're a shrunken city,
Noo Johnie's deid!
Tak hands, an' sing a burial ditty
Ower Johnie's heid.
To see him was baith drink an' meat,
Gaun linkin' glegly up the street.
He but to rin or tak a seat,
The wee bit body!
Bein' aye unsicken on his feet
Wi' whusky toddy.
To be aye tosh was Johnie's whim,
There's nane was better teut than him,
Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim'
Ahint his ear,
An' whiles he'd buttons oot or in
The less ae mair.
His hair a' lang about his bree,
His tap-lip lang by inches three -
A slockened sort 'mon,' to pree
A' sensuality -
A droutly glint was in his e'e
An' personality.
An' day an' nicht, frae daw to daw,
Dink an' perjink an' doucely braw,
Wi' a kind o' Gospel ower a',
May or October,
Like Peden, followin' the Law
An' no that sober.
Whusky an' he were pack thegether.
Whate'er the hour, whate'er the weather,
John kept himsel' wi' mistened leather
An' kindled spunk.
Wi' him, there was nae askin' whether -
John was aye drunk.
The auncient heroes gash an' bauld
In the uncanny days of auld,
The task ance fo(u)nd to which th'were called,
Stack stenchly to it.
His life sic noble lives recalled,
Little's he knew it.
Single an' straucht, he went his way.
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poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The Habitants Jubilee Ode
I read on de paper mos' ev'ry day, all about Jubilee
An' grande procession movin' along, an' passin' across de sea,
Dat's chil'ren of Queen Victoriaw comin' from far away
For tole Madame w'at dey t'ink of her, an' wishin' her bonne santé.
An' if any wan want to know pourquoi les Canayens should be dere
Wit' res' of de worl' for shout 'Hooraw' an' t'row hees cap on de air,
Purty quick I will tole heem de reason, w'y we feel lak de oder do,
For if I'm only poor habitant, I'm not on de sapré fou.
Of course w'en we t'ink it de firs' go off, I know very strange it seem
For fader of us dey was offen die for flag of L'Ancien Regime,
From day w'en de voyageurs come out all de way from ole St. Malo,
Flyin' dat flag from de mas' above, an' long affer dat also.
De English fight wit' de Frenchman den over de whole contree,
Down by de reever, off on de wood, an' out on de beeg, beeg sea,
Killin', an' shootin', an' raisin' row, half tam dey don't know w'at for,
W'en it's jus' as easy get settle down, not makin' de crazy war.
Sometam' dey be quiet for leetle w'ile, you t'ink dey don't fight no more,
An' den w'en dey're feelin' all right agen, Bang! jus' lak' she was before.
Very offen we're beatin' dem on de fight, sometam' dey can beat us, too,
But no feller's scare on de 'noder man, an' bote got enough to do.
An' all de long year she be go lak' dat, we never was know de peace,
Not'ing but war from de wes' contree down to de St. Maurice;
Till de las' fight's comin' on Canadaw, an' brave Generale Montcalm
Die lak' a sojer of France is die, on Battle of Abraham.
Dat's finish it all, an' de English King is axin' us stayin' dere
W'ere we have sam' right as de 'noder peep comin' from Angleterre.
Long tam' for our moder so far away de poor Canayens is cry,
But de new step-moder she's good an' kin', an' it's all right bimeby.
If de moder come dead w'en you're small garçon leavin' you dere alone,
Wit' nobody watchin' for fear you fall, an hurt youse'f on de stone,
An' 'noder good woman she tak' your han' de sam' your own moder do,
Is it right you don't call her moder, is it right you don't love her too?
Bâ non, an' dat was de way we feel, w'en de ole Regime's no more,
An' de new wan come, but don't change moche, w'y it's jus' lak' it be before.
Spikin' Français lak' we alway do, an' de English dey mak no fuss,
An' our law de sam', wall, I don't know me, 'twas better mebbe for us.
So de sam' as two broder we settle down, leevin' dere han' in han',
Knowin' each oder, we lak' each oder, de French an' de Englishman,
For it's curi's t'ing on dis worl', I'm sure you see it agen an' agen,
Dat offen de mos' worse ennemi, he's comin' de bes', bes' frien'.
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poem by William Henry Drummond
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When de Co'n Pone's Hot
Dey is times in life when Nature
Seems to slip a cog an' go,
Jes' a-rattlin' down creation,
Lak an ocean's overflow;
When de worl' jes' stahts a-spinnin'
Lak a picaninny's top,
An' yo' cup o' joy is brimmin'
'Twell it seems about to slop,
An' you feel jes' lak a racah,
Dat is trainin' fu' to trot--
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone's hot.
When you set down at de table,
Kin' o' weary lak an' sad,
An' you 'se jes' a little tiahed
An' purhaps a little mad;
How yo' gloom tu'ns into gladness,
How yo' joy drives out de doubt
When de oven do' is opened,
An' de smell comes po'in' out;
Why, de 'lectric light o' Heaven
Seems to settle on de spot,
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone's hot.
When de cabbage pot is steamin'
An' de bacon good an' fat,
When de chittlins is a-sputter'n'
So's to show you whah dey's at;
Tek away yo' sody biscuit,
Tek away yo' cake an' pie,
Fu' de glory time is comin',
An' it's 'proachin' mighty nigh,
An' you want to jump an' hollah,
Dough you know you'd bettah not,
When yo' mammy says de blessin'
An' de co'n pone's hot.
I have hyeahd a' lots o' sermons,
An' I've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers,
An I've listened to some singin'
Dat has tuck me up de stairs
Of de Glory-Lan' an' set me
Jes' below de Mastah's th'one,
An' have lef' my hea't a-singin'
In a happy aftah tone;
But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmured
Seem to tech de softes' spot,
When my mammy says de blessin',
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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How Lucy Backslid
De times is mighty stirrin' 'mong de people up ouah way,
Dey 'sputin' an' dey argyin' an' fussin' night an' day;
An' all dis monst'ous trouble dat hit meks me tiahed to tell
Is 'bout dat Lucy Jackson dat was sich a mighty belle.
She was de preachah's favoured, an' he tol' de chu'ch one night
Dat she travelled thoo de cloud o' sin a-bearin' of a light;
But, now, I 'low he t'inkin' dat she mus' 'a' los' huh lamp,
Case Lucy done backslided an' dey trouble in de camp.
Huh daddy wants to beat huh, but huh mammy daihs him to,
Fu' she lookin' at de question f'om a ooman's pint o' view;
An' she say dat now she would n't have it diff'ent ef she could;
Dat huh darter only acted jes' lak any othah would.
Cose you know w'en women argy, dey is mighty easy led
By dey hea'ts an' don't go foolin' 'bout de reasons of de haid.
So huh mammy laid de law down (she ain' reckernizin' wrong),
But you got to mek erlowance fu' de cause dat go along.
Now de cause dat made Miss Lucy fu' to th'ow huh grace away
I 's afeard won't baih no 'spection w'en hit come to jedgement day;
Do' de same t'ing been a-wo'kin' evah sence de worl' began,--
De ooman disobeyin' fu' to 'tice along a man.
Ef you 'tended de revivals which we held de wintah pas',
You kin rickolec' dat convuts was a-comin' thick an' fas';
But dey ain't no use in talkin', dey was all lef' in de lu'ch
W'en ol' Mis' Jackson's dartah foun' huh peace an' tuk de chu'ch.
W'y, she shouted ovah evah inch of Ebenezah's flo';
Up into de preachah's pulpit an' f'om dah down to de do';
Den she hugged an' squeezed huh mammy, an' she hugged an' kissed
huh dad,
An' she struck out at huh sistah, people said, lak she was mad.
I has 'tended some revivals dat was lively in my day,
An' I 's seed folks git 'uligion in mos' evah kin' o' way;
But I tell you, an' you b'lieve me dat I 's speakin' true indeed,
Dat gal tuk huh 'ligion ha'dah dan de ha'dest yit I 's seed.
Well, f'om dat, 't was 'Sistah Jackson, won't you please do dis er dat?'
She mus' allus sta't de singin' w'en dey 'd pass erroun' de hat,
An' hit seemed dey was n't nuffin' in dat chu'ch dat could go by
'Dout sistah Lucy Jackson had a finger in de pie.
But de sayin' mighty trufeful dat hit easiah to sail
W'en de sea is ca'm an' gentle dan to weathah out a gale.
Dat 's whut made dis ooman's trouble; ef de sto'm had kep' away,
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poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Tale VI
THE FRANK COURTSHIP.
Grave Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire,
Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher;
Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow,
Who knew the man could never cease to know:
His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,
Had a firm presence and a steady eye;
But with her husband dropp'd her look and tone,
And Jonas ruled unquestion'd and alone.
He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,
How pious husbands of their wives were lords;
Sarah called Abraham Lord! and who could be,
So Jonas thought, a greater man than he?
Himself he view'd with undisguised respect,
And never pardon'd freedom or neglect.
They had one daughter, and this favourite child
Had oft the father of his spleen beguiled;
Soothed by attention from her early years,
She gained all wishes by her smiles or tears;
But Sybil then was in that playful time,
When contradiction is not held a crime;
When parents yield their children idle praise
For faults corrected in their after days.
Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt,
Where each his duty and his station felt:
Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find,
In equal views and harmony of mind;
Not the soft peace that blesses those who love,
Where all with one consent in union move;
But it was that which one superior will
Commands, by making all inferiors still;
Who bids all murmurs, all objections, cease,
And with imperious voice announces--Peace!
They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew,
Who, as their foes maintain, their Sovereign slew;
An independent race, precise, correct,
Who ever married in the kindred sect:
No son or daughter of their order wed
A friend to England's king who lost his head;
Cromwell was still their Saint, and when they met,
They mourn'd that Saints were not our rulers yet.
Fix'd were their habits; they arose betimes,
Then pray'd their hour, and sang their party-
rhymes:
Their meals were plenteous, regular and plain;
The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain;
Vender of hops and malt, of coals and corn -
And, like his father, he was merchant born:
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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The Task: Book IV. -- The Winter Evening
Hark! ‘tis the twanging horn o’er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;—
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter’d boots, strapp’d waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close-pack’d load behind,
Yet, careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn,
And, having dropp’d the expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indifferent whether grief or joy.
Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet
With tears, that trickled down the writer’s cheeks
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But O the important budget! usher’d in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awaked?
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg’d,
Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does she wear her plumed
And jewell’d turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh—I long to know them all;
I burn to set the imprison’d wranglers free,
And give them voice and utterance once again.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round,
And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Not such his evening, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed
And bored with elbow points through both his sides,
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles.
[...] Read more
poem by William Cowper
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O tebi
O tebi ne govorim ljudima jer shvatili ne bi
O tebi govorim
Tek listu kad lomno padne na tlo
Sumraku kad te razlije u boje
I rubu ponornog sjećanja mog
Tek tmini kada progovori glasno
Suzu prolomljenu u dnu crnog oka
Što kanuti neće nikad
Tek vratima odškrinutim i odjeku koraka
Zalutalim pragovima što kuće svoje traže
Otkucaju srca i posljednjom mrežom
Zahvaćenu vodu što kroz konope
Nazad u izvor lije
O tebi ljepoto moja
Ne govorim ni tebi
Jer čak ni ti shvatio ne bi
Da s površine riječi ništa se ne kreće
I ništa u dubine vratiti se neće
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Rupert
Rupert:
Sey yuh waan know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Sey yuh waan know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Verse 1:
Mi get up dis mawning
Sey mi nah ga a nuh work
Put on a pants and a likkle pretty shirt
Yow burn steel wi a go mek a gal splurt
Me hear a man start lick out alert
People dead! Me sey who? - Rupert
Mi go over deh a mi go see him inna dirt
Di way how me bex, mi sey everybody hurt
Mi a di fus' man sey, nuh mek di jeep splurt
A man draw fi a stone outta di dirt
And sey A obstacle must get hurt
Boop an lick a girl in har skirt
Mi hear she shout out Blouse and skirt
Dem deh time blood a decorate di skirt
Rupert:
Sey you waa know Rupert
Blouse and skirt (repeat)
Sey yuh waa know Rupert
Blouse and skirt
Verse 2:
Bop! Bop! shot start fire
A man sey "Hombre come we retire"
Shines say "no man, puncture di tire"
Yeah! Yuh go dweet, cause yuh a Bag-A-Wire
Bop!Bop! more shot start pop
"What is a uzi dat, no is a glock"
Yow! Stop yuh noise man, a chat you love chat?
See smoke deh, a tear gas
Tek yuh sheet dem, move di mattras
Lock di door from di bottom to di top
Mi did wake but mi gone sleep back
Mi naw go out deh fi get nuh gun shot -
Rupert:
Suh yuh nuh know Rupert, alright
Blouse and skirt
Verse 3:
Mi a go tell yuh how di youth get hurt
Him sey him eat till him belly did a run
So him wake up and go do-do Over di burial ground
So a come him a come See a jeep and go run
Bow! an dem shoot him dung
A man started to talk whey did dumb
Three couple man jump a fence Whey dem
Nobody know dem nuh waa get gun dung
[...] Read more
song performed by Zebra
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Party
DEY had a gread big pahty down to Tom's de othah night;
Was I dah? You bet! I neveh in my life see sich a sight;
All de folks f'om fou' plantations was invited, an' dey come,
Dey come troopin' thick ez chillun when dey hyeahs a fife an' drum.
Evahbody dressed deir fines'- Heish yo' mouf an' git away,
Ain't seen no sich fancy dressin' sence las' quah'tly meetin' day;
Gals all dressed in silks an' satins, not a wrinkle ner a crease,
Eyes a-battin', teeth a-shinin', haih breashed back ez slick ez grease;
Sku'ts all tucked an' puffed an' ruffled, evah blessed seam an' stitch;
Ef you'd seen 'em wif deir mistus, coul n't swahed to which was which.
Men all dressed up in Prince Alberts, swaller-tails 'u'd tek yo' bref!
I cain't tell you nothin' 'bout it, y' ought to seen it fu' yo'se'f.
Who was dah? Now who you askin'? How you 'spect I gwine to know?
You mus' think I stood an' coutned evahbody at de do.'
Ole man Babah's house-boy Isaac, brung dat gal, Malindy Jane,
Huh a-hangin' to his elbow, him a-struttin' wif a cane;
My, but Hahvey Jones was jealous! seemed to stick him lak a tho'n;
But he laughed with Viney Cahteh, tryin' ha'd to not let on,
But a pusson would 'a' noticed f'om de d'rection of his look,
Dat he was watchin' ev'ry step dat Ike an' Lindy took.
Ike he foun' a cheer an' asked huh: 'Won't you set down?' wif a smile,
An' she answe'd up a-bowin', 'Oh, I reckon 't ain't wuth while.'
Dat was jes' fu' style I reckon, 'cause she sot down jes' de same,
An' she stayed dah 'twell he fetched huh fu' to jine some so't o' game;
Den I hyeahd huh sayin' propah, ez she riz to go away,
'Oh, you raly mus' excuse me, fu' I hardly keers to play.'
But I seen huh in a minute wif de othahs on de flo',
An' dah was n't any one o' dem a-playin' any mo';
Comin' down de flo' a-bowin' an' a-swayin' an' a-swingin',
Puttin' on huh high-toned mannahs all de time dat she was singin';
'Oh, swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun',
Swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun',
Oh, swing Johnny up an' down, swing him all aroun',
Fa' you well, my dahlin'.'
Had to laff at ole man Johnson, he's a caution now, you bet-
Hittiin' clost onto a hunderd, but he's spry an' nimble yet;
He 'lowed how a-so't o-gigglin', 'I ain't ole, I'll let you see,
D'ain't no use in gittin' feeble, now you youngstahs jes' watch me,'
An' he grabbed ole Aunt Marier- weighs th'ee hunderd mo' er less,
An' he spun huh 'roun' de cabin swingin' Johnny lak de res'.
Evahbody laffed an' hollahed: 'Go it! Swing huh, Uncle Jim!'
An' he swung huh too, I reckon, lak a youngstah, who but him.
Dat was bettah'n young Scott Thomas, tryin' to be so awful smaht.
You know when dey gits to singin' an' dey comes to dat ere paht:
'In some lady's new brick house,
In some lady's gyahden.
Ef you don't let me out, I will jump out,
So fa' you well, my dahlin'.'
Den dey's got a circle 'roun' you, an' you's got to break de line;
Well, dat dahky was so anxious, lak to bust hisse'f a-tryin';
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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As I Sat Alone By Blue Ontario's Shores
AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead
that return no more,
A Phantom, gigantic, superb, with stern visage, accosted me;
Chant me the poem, it said, that comes from the soul of America--
chant me the carol of victory;
And strike up the marches of Libertad--marches more powerful yet;
And sing me before you go, the song of the throes of Democracy.
(Democracy--the destin'd conqueror--yet treacherous lip-smiles
everywhere,
And Death and infidelity at every step.)
A Nation announcing itself,
I myself make the only growth by which I can be appreciated, 10
I reject none, accept all, then reproduce all in my own forms.
A breed whose proof is in time and deeds;
What we are, we are--nativity is answer enough to objections;
We wield ourselves as a weapon is wielded,
We are powerful and tremendous in ourselves,
We are executive in ourselves--We are sufficient in the variety of
ourselves,
We are the most beautiful to ourselves, and in ourselves;
We stand self-pois'd in the middle, branching thence over the world;
From Missouri, Nebraska, or Kansas, laughing attacks to scorn.
Nothing is sinful to us outside of ourselves, 20
Whatever appears, whatever does not appear, we are beautiful or
sinful in ourselves only.
(O mother! O sisters dear!
If we are lost, no victor else has destroy'd us;
It is by ourselves we go down to eternal night.)
Have you thought there could be but a single Supreme?
There can be any number of Supremes--One does not countervail
another, any more than one eyesight countervails another, or
one life countervails another.
All is eligible to all,
All is for individuals--All is for you,
No condition is prohibited--not God's, or any.
All comes by the body--only health puts you rapport with the
universe. 30
Produce great persons, the rest follows.
[...] Read more
poem by Walt Whitman
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Dipped In Superstitions
My mind has been dipped in superstitions.
From the day that I was born to breathe.
Black cats and cracks on dirty sidewalks...
And splitting poles when walking with people!
My mind has been quick to mend a quarrel.
With those who may not agree to speak!
But grandma always spoke to neighbors...
Even if they stoled her peaches off the trees!
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
Sometimes I sit and pick my memory!
Of things my grandma said to me.
She told me don't talk bad of people...
'Bite your lip and watch them slip,
Off the steeple to their knees! '
Huh?
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
My mind has been dipped in superstitions.
From the day that I was born to breathe!
And when my grandma grabbed the spatula...
I knew when it was time for me to leave! !
'Good manners and respect will save.
You don't want to take evil meanness...
To your grave! '
OKAY...I'm outta here!
'Good manners and respect will save.
And don't pretend your heart is golden...
Before the cookies are baked! '
Huh?
And what is that suppose to mean?
'You'll figure it all out!
Long after your 'teens'...
Good manners and respect will save!
Not pretending that your heart is golden...
Before a cookie is baked! '
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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De Stove Pipe Hole
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.
Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,
An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,
But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',
Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.
He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!
An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,
An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.
Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,
He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,
Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,
An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.
De girl she's waitin' dere for heem--don't care about de rain,
So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,
Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser
An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say--
'Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,
For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon--
It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,
He's got no use for me at all--I see dat ev'ry day.
'He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'
An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,
So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,
An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.'
Den Emmeline say 'Dominique, ma love you'll alway be
An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy--
But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole--
All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.
'Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,
I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you.'
Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,
But don't get too moche pleasurement--so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.
Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse
Emmeline say, 'Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?
Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun','
W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.
[...] Read more
poem by William Henry Drummond
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My Little Cabane
I'm sittin' to-night on maleetle ca-
bane, more happier dan de king,
An' ev'ry corner 's singin' out wit'
musique de ole stove sing
I hear de cry of de winter win', for de storm-
gate 's open wide
But I don't care not'ing for win'or storm, so
long I was safe inside.
Viens 'ci, mon chien, put your head on dere,
let your nose res' on ma knee-
You 'member de tam we chase de moose back
on de Lac Souris
An' de snow come down an' we los' ourse'f
till mornin' is bring de light,
You t'ink we got place to sleep, mon chien,
lak de place we got here to-night
Onder de roof of de leetle cabane, w'ere fire
she's blazin' high
An' bed I mak' of de spruce tree branch, is lie
on de floor close by,
O! I lak de smell of dat nice fresh bed, an' I
dream of de summer tam
An' de spot w'ere de beeg trout jomp so
moche down by de lumber dam.
But lissen dat win', how she scream outside,
mak me t'ink of de loup garou,
W'y to-night, mon chien, I be feelin' glad if
even de carcajou
Don't ketch hese'f on de trap I set to-day on
de Lac Souris
Let heem wait tili to-morrow, an' den if he
lak, I geev heem good chance, sapree!
I see beeg cloud w'en I'm out to-day, off on
de nor'-eas' sky,
An' she block de road, so de cloud behin',
don't get a chance passin' by,
An' I t'ink of boom on de grande riviere, w'en
log 's fillin' up de bay,
Wall! sam' as de boom on de spring-tam
flood, dat cloud she was sweep away.
Dem log 's very nice an' quiet, so long as de
boom 's all right,
But soon as de boom geev way, l'enfant! it's
den is begin de fight.
Dey run de rapide, an' jomp de rock', dey leap
[...] Read more
poem by William Henry Drummond
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National Policy
Oor fader lef' ole France behin', dat's
many year ago,
An' how we get along since den, wall! ev'ry
body know,
Few t'ousan' firse class familee was only come
dat tam,
An' now we got pure Canayens; t'ee million
peop' bedamme!
Dat's purty smart beez-neese, I t'ink we done
on Canadaw,
An' we don't mak' no grande hooraw, but do
it tranquillement
So if we're braggin' now an' den, we mus' be
excuzay,
For no wan's never see before de record bus'
dat way.
An' w'y should we be feel ashame, 'cos we
have boy an' girl?
No matter who was come along, we'll match
agen de worl';
Wit plaintee boy lak w'at we got no danger
be afraid,
An' all de girl she look too nice for never come
ole maid.
If we have only small cor-nere de sam' we
have before
W'en ole Champlain an' Jacques Cartier firse
jomp upon de shore
Dere's no use hurry den at all, but now you
understan'
We got to whoop it up, ba gosh! for occupy
de lan'!
W'at's use de million acre, w'at's use de belle
riviere,
An' t'ing lak dat if we don't have somebody
leevin' dere?
W'at's mak' de worl' look out for us, an' kip
de nation free
Unless we're raison' all de tam some fine large
familee?
Don't seem long we buil' dat road, Chemin
de Pacifique,
Tak' honder dollar pass on dere, an' nearly two
t'ree week,
Den look dat place it freeze so hard, on w'at
[...] Read more
poem by William Henry Drummond
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