Letter to the Editor

[Verse 1]

Letter to the Editor

Pocket full a promises

Baby empty bellies

Poverty and Democracies

And political rallies

But who the rich a lobby for

Using me for votes

Pretend a mi yuh sorry for

Then win and its a joke

I'm sick of trick or treaters in costumes like dem as leaders

Charismatic public speakers

False prophets and fake healers

Articulate perfect grammar scammer

Scamming us for votes

Infront of tv camera with an innocent approach

Nuh mo lies and fallacies

Bun apologies

Try nuh ask please when a squeeze and yuh pan yuh knees

Justice or else says the minister Farakhan

Suh me stand up a Gordon house

Wid my Glock Inna me hand

If I take it literally, fuck it geez I'm kinda sorry

But smaddy need Fi answer

Gimmi Di microphone and Mek mi rep di innocent paying recompense for money spent to feed the governments

Yo! Gimmi Di microphone get the people riled up too much fuckery Piled up get di ting dem oiled up

Parallel universes in the same Ol' hemisphere

Authorities they don't care with dem nose up in the air

[Chorus]

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric

We talk Di truth and mek Di youths dem better for it

Cause I'm a fighter, yeah

If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

[Verse 2]

Mek the stench from ghetto fences permeate dem residences extend up through the trenches up to where the presidents is

Karma pan Di ones and twos yes it turn the tables

Had enough a you with your parable and fables

Jamaican bad gal queen and revolutionary

Neva quick Fi start a war but shoot whenever necessary

Product of the inner city

Where me come from it nuh pretty

Survive the nitty gritty

Ain't nobody taking pity

Survival kinda sticky

In New York Cali and philly

A di same ting a gwaan in a Kingston

[Chorus]

Cause our bombs dem metaphoric

We talk Di truth and mek Di youths dem better for it

Cause I'm a fighter, yeah

If you agree put up yuh lighter, yeah

[Verse 3]

These are the da days of the last days, pan the last page of Di book of the dark age

We a path ways wid oppressors

Seek Predecessors

Wake up ancestors

Den we team up together

We will meet we will meet pan Di battle Di battle ground

Trade mi microphone

For a shottie and some copper stones

Just be ready When Di gavel sound

Bun a folly ground fus

Jah surround us

So We never nervous

Was a mental war now this shit turn physical

From long time scar we a reap the residual

From slavery to now, now the ting get critical

Dem CyAh kill we soul cause dem sight sey we spiritual

So They be like, hey

Prod the bull under Sykes as subliminal, get them mad

Then chastise dem as criminal

Give wi drugs under guise sey it clinical