She is flesh of me flesh
I am bone of her bone
So please stop kicking her
Beg yu leave her alone,
She is not fighting back
Find de love dat yu lack
Dat's me sista yu beating upstairs.

I am feeling dem punches
I am feeling dem kicks
I see where yu mind is
I check yu as sick,
So yu are 'De Man',
Easy man, if yu can,
Dat's me sista yu beating upstairs.

She's screaming,
An it seems dat yu will not stop,
‘Dis is domestic’, (de words of a cop)
An yu keep repeating, ‘Tell me where you've been’,
She's trying fe tell yu
Yu not listening,
Downstairs me flat is shaking,
De lights are crazy swaying,
An I can hear loudly each word yu are saying,
I feel dat her body is touching me ceiling,
An I see de man from inside yu revealing.

She's crying fe many,
Dere's many de same,
An don't try fe tell me de Bible's to blame,
De colours yu fly outside, carry dem home,
It's cruel, you're unhealthy
Yu should live alone,
Dat problem needs checking,
It seems yu fegetting,
Remember yu mudda
I am yu girlfriends bredda

Yu energy's wasted
Yu bitterness tasted,
An all dat yu stand fa as been demonstrated.

So now yu feel sexy,
Does dat turn yu on?
After yu cum tell me where ave yu gone?
Yu bed’s only playing de riddim of one,
Music direct from de great Babylon,
Who carved de image an space you mus fill?
Is she de enemy dat yu mus kill?
Do yu tell yu friends how yu get yu cheap thrills?
Does yu mudda know dat yu acting so ill?

She is flesh of me flesh
I am bone of her bone,
I cannot help hearing,
I am downstairs alone,
Yu reap what yu sow,
How comes yu don't know
Dats OUR sister yu beating upstairs.

I saw a picture of a sign
It was a sign of de time
Saying,
‘No Blacks, No Irish, No Dogs,
No Children, No Cats, No Wogs.’
Sey what,
Dat greeted me Mudder
In de Mudder country?
Nowadays
Dem couldn't leave dat message fe me.

I saw a picture of a Policeman
Beating a Bredda,
As a lesson on progress
Me show it to me Mudder.
Me Mudder sey 'What
Is PC Dixon dat'
Me sey,
‘Mum dat is dat
Dats de Mudder country
Plenty a shout tit fe tat
An try raise a family.’
I saw a picture of a man
Trying hard.
Very thin,
Homeless, moneyless
One more starving,
De Credit Legacy
Hopeless in Chelsea,
De Mudder countrys home
Of de New Age Yuppie.

I saw a picture of meself
In me British Passport,
An me tink of all de people
Dat de British hav fought,
Like ‘De Blacks, de Irish, de Dogs,
De Children, de Cats and de Wogs.’
Now de Mudder country is down
On her knee,
She is tough and quite persistent,
But I picture some ting different.

I used to think nurses
Were women,
I used to think police
Were men,
I used to think poets
Were boring,
Until I became one of them.

Smart big awards and prize money
Is killing off black poetry
It's not censors or dictators that are cutting up our art.
The lure of meeting royalty
And touching high society
Is damping creativity and eating at our heart.

The ancestors would turn in graves
Those poor black folk that once were slaves would wonder
How our souls were sold
And check our strategies,
The empire strikes back and waves
Tamed warriors bow on parades
When they have done what they've been told
They get their OBE's.

Don't take my word, go check the verse
Cause every laureate gets worse
A family that you cannot fault as muse will mess your mind,
And yeah, you may fatten your purse
And surely they will check you first when subjects need to be amused
With paid for prose and rhymes.

Take your prize, now write more,
Faster,
Fuck the truth
Now you're an actor do not fault your benefactor
Write, publish and review,
You look like a dreadlocks Rasta,
You look like a ghetto blaster,
But you can't diss your paymaster
And bite the hand that feeds you.

What happened to the verse of fire
Cursing cool the empire
What happened to the soul rebel that Marley had in mind,
This bloodstained, stolen empire rewards you and you conspire,
(Yes Marley said that time will tell)
Now look they've gone and joined.

We keep getting this beating
It's bad history repeating
It reminds me of those capitalists that say
'Look you have a choice,'
It's sick and self-defeating if our dispossessed keep weeping
And we give these awards meaning
But we end up with no voice.

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The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We despairing, they careering.
We want more peace they want more police.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
We say sisters and brothers don't fear.
They will do anything for the Mayor.
The coconuts have got the jobs.
The race industry is a growth industry.
They're looking for victims and poets to rent.
They represent me without my consent.
The Uncle Toms are getting paid.
The race industry is a growth industry.
In suits they dither in fear of anarchy.
They take our sufferings and earn a salary.
Steal our souls and make their documentaries.
Inform daily on our community.
Without Black suffering they'd have no jobs.
Without our dead they'd have no office.
Without our tears they'd have no drink.
If they stopped sucking we could get justice.
The coconuts are getting paid.
Men, women and Brixton are being betrayed.