' P A P A '
It seems not long ago you came knocking
Standing at the door,

For 1-piece 2-piece 3 piece more,
To take you further and around, around and down, down and out, to the lucky place.
Your regular, the land foretold.

So, I search for gold and hand your pennies,
With a tip of a hat, a mumbled goodbye
The Dominican sun is put into to your London sky.

Has the city been kind to you?

You who stood tall and strong, one among many Dominicans, Caribbean’s,
Gentlemen of the rush, so relaxed they made the wind hush.
The cool men, smooth men, suit wearing, religious men,
Never played cards because it’s the devils work,
William Hill,
Paddy’s Power,

Travellers, who left the ocean behind, forgot the sand of another time.
Set sail to their hopes,
lost their vision along the way,
Drowned their dreams
Found their dreams
Sip by sip, day by day
Thirsty fiends.
Walking along gold pavements and into the bookies.

Looking for more.
As I am wanting more from you.

The man who taught me the lord’s prayer,
Sang to me gospels and church parables
Brought me the beat, the soul, the belief in manners
I’m looking for you, staring at you
Crumped up, paralyzed
On your own crucifix.

And I wonder,
Would you still choose Guinness over rum Papa?'


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