They don’t care about us (TCN version)

Skinhead, deadhead
Everybody gone bad
No transformer, Power failure 
Everybody…Generator
In the street, Mama-put
Everybody dogfood
Night guard, Door man
Everybody ‘Chairman’

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us…
All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us

Beat me, hate me
You can never break me
Will me, thrill me
You can never kill me
Chew me, sue me
Everybody do me
Bribe me fine me
Dont you ‘419’ me

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us
All I wann say is that
They dont really care
about us

Tell me what has
become of my life
I love to drive
but the LASTMA dont love me
I am the victim of police
brutality, now
I’m tired of being the
victim of hate, you’re raping
me of my cash
Oh for Gods sake!
How much do these officials 
want to take from me? Set me free

Skinhead, deadhead
Everybody gone bad
Politicians, agitation
Everybody registration
In the street, at the corners
Everybody on Okadas

Black man blackmail
Throw the brother
in jail

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us
All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us

Tell me what has become of my rights
Am I invisible cause you ignore me?
Your proclamation
promised me free liberty
I’m tired of being the victim
of shame
They’re throwing me in a
class with a bad name
I cant believe this is the
land from which I came
You know we really ought to see, The government dont
wanna see, but if
Saro-Wiwa was living, he
wouldn’t let this be, no,no

Skinhead, deadhead
Everybody gone bad
Situation, speculataion
Everybody litigation
Beat me, bash me
You can never trash me
Hit me, kick me
You can never get me

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us
All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us …(Bridge)

Some things in life they
just don’t wanna see

But if Enahoro was
living, he wouldn’t let
this be no, no,
Skinhead, deadhead
Everybodys gone bad
Situation Segregation
Everybody allegation

In the street and the news
Everybody dogfood
kick me Hike me
Dont you wrong or
right me

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us
All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us

All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about …All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about…All I wanna say is that
They dont really care
about us (hee hee, hoo-hoo!)

Sources: Google images, lyrics007.com

Entry #39 – Farewell Michael…

As the world sits and watches the grand memorial service held as a solemn tribute to a legend who died before his time, I recall the powerful words said by the reverend, the fun memories told by Brooke Shields, the touching words from his daughter Paris and the closing words from his brother Marlon. Your impact on the world is immeasurable and I can only wish that you stayed just a little bit longer so we could heal the world together.

In your memory I shall always continue to do the Moonwalk whenever and wherever I find a slippery surface. This video from youtube is put here on my blog in your honour to show just how much you touched the hearts of millions. Moonwalk to heaven….R.I.P K.O.P

Entry #36 – Gone too soon

mjThis pic is the way I remembered Michael Jackson as a child and will always remember him. He’s the reason why I would sing or hum a tune in the shower every morning. He’s the reason why I still keep pairs of trousers that have outgrown me. He’s the reason why I body-pop whenever I’m in front of a mirror (alone). He’s the reason why I moonwalk whenever I’m on a slippery surface (again, alone). He’s the reason why most of the CDs in my car don’t get as much airplay on a daily basis. He’s the reason I’ve become a fan of Usher, Chris Brown, Ginuwine, Sisco and Justin Timberlake. He’s the reason I have a romantic, imaginative and sensitive side. He’s the reason I’m writing this impromptu post at 6am in the morning even though I should be getting ready for work. He’s probably the reason why it’s been raining non stop since 4am this morning…and perhaps the reason why it still looks dark outside. He’s the reason why the world is in mourning today. His performances were electrifying and his legacy is unprecedented. For this and generations to come he is a music legend, a dancing maestro, a philanthropist, an icon of our time. He is and will always be remembered as the KING OF POP. Michael, I salute you…I miss you…and I’ll see you Neverland… 😦

R.I.P Michael J. Jackson (1958-2009)

Blood on the dancefloor II

continued…

As you get back on your feet, nose bleeding and totally humiliated, you loathe the DJ’s well-timed sense of irony as he switches the music to…wait for it… Michael Jackson’s ‘Blood on the dancefloor’. But you suddenly realize that this is the big break you’ve been waiting for! Thats the kind of music you can step to, not ‘Say My Name’. They’ll be ‘saying YOUR name’ by the time you’re done. You’re going to redeem your image, silence the hecklers, and give your dancing partner a wacko-jacko experience she will never forget.

First you grab your crotch and pop it up and down a few times in succession while your legs are ‘at ease’. The crowd is already beginning to cheer. You stop crotch-popping and start to gyrate on the spot, your eyes firmly fixed on your dancing adversary. The ‘Wooo!’s and whistles from the ladies around are overwhelming. You snap-wiggle your leg in the air then you strut your way over to her and push your waist up against hers. Her lips part. You take her right hand up and whisper to her, ‘It’s going down, babe’.

You spin her around and then you both put on an electrifying, neomodern salsa performance.The uproar from the crowd is unprecedented. You catch a glimpse of some beautiful ladies biting their bottom lips. Some are winking at you and pouting seductively. You know you look bad and dangerous with your sweaty silk shirt and bloody nose. The alluring scent of your dance partner’s perfume brings you back into focus though.

You  ‘crip-walk’ around her like a deranged Red-Indian around a bonfire, snapping your head aback along the way. After one complete revolution you do a lightning spin and execute the Billie-Jean Toe stand – applause aplenty! You grab her upclose one more time. This time you can feel her heart beating fast. It will all be over soon but not after you give the audience what you know they’ve been craving for. Tonight you will leave your mark as the undisputed dance maestro, the dancefloor will worship your feet, and your $39.99 loafers will be put to the ultimate test!

You take a step back, arms stretched out in front and pulling her gently towards you. You start to backslide slowly and she instinctively comes towards you. You pick up the pace and her salsa-strut is perfectly in synch. Never before have you performed the Moonwalk while still holding your leading lady. It’s absolute pandemonium now and you can see the club’s bouncers on red alert. Your friends are chanting your name and then the whole club joins in – even the DJ. In a Tango Neuvo approach, you lean her forward so that her back is arched and she has an inverted view of the audience. She’s breathless. You’re exhausted. The crowd loved it. You pull her back up and she asks you, ‘Where did THAT come from?’ You say nothing but smile. She then whispers in your ear, ‘I wanna rock your world…’

…1 long kiss and 3 Trojans later, you wake up. You’re in her apartment. It wasn’t all a dream. You can still see your silk shirt hanging across the bedroom. You’re both so cosy under the sheets and she’s got her head on your chest. You notice a picture frame by your side of the bed and its faced down. You’re thinking you probably bumped it during the hanky-panky. She also wakes up shortly after and she asks you for the time. You look at your watch – Its almost 2am. She suddenly panicks and tells you that you have to leave.

You put 2 and 2 together and you pick up the picture frame to notice she’s in the picture with a huge, built-up bloke. ‘Who’s he?’ She tells you its her husband and that he’ll be back any minute. You suddenly hear a knock on the door. You’ve had your fun with dirty Diana but you don’t want to see blood in the bedroom. You haven’t got time to throw your clothes on. There’s a window to your left and you’re only 1 storey off the ground. It’s time to beat it!

Blood on the dancefloor

You can see her looking at you from across the room. In fact, she’s been watching you all night. She’s all by herself in that sexy, ‘Daddy-would-kill-me-if- he-saw-me-in-this’ dress. Your friends taunt you to go over and talk to her. You rub off your sweaty palms against your Armani Jeans and summon up enough courage to make your move. As you get your swagger on you notice your bounce coincides with the intro to Neyo’s ‘Sexy love’ which the DJ’s playing – that’s a good sign. She’s even smiling as you get closer – that’s even better. You both start to talk, flirt, laugh…and you didn’t even have to buy her a drink! When she’s not looking, you turn to your friends across and signal with a ‘thumbs-up’ (yay!). Everything is going swell…until she asks you to dance.

You know you don’t want to but in the words of Chris Tucker ‘She FAAAINE, men!’ You can’t afford to let some other chump acquire those ass-ets. You’ve earned it! It’s her favorite song too so before you try to talk your way out of it she drags you to the dance floor anyway. Now, you tell yourself ‘I aint so bad, I was the hotstepper back in the day, I’ve still got a few tricks up my socks…but how the f*** am I supposed to dance to Say My Name, Say My Name?’ Is that even scientifically possible? You don’t remember seeing Destiny’s Child do much more than strike poses for 90% of the music video. But this is real life. She’s looking at your ‘leg/feet’ area like she’s saying ‘Show me what you got, you stud-muffin’. Your friends are watching…HER friends are watching…There’s no turning back…This is it! It’s time to bust a move!

You’re under pressure so you look to see what other people are doing but they’re just moving side to side. If you can’t beat ’em join ’em, right? But you’re in for a surprise! Your dance partner is doing the moves in the Destiny’s Child video and you’re starting to wonder if she was behind the choreography. Next up the DJ switches to ‘Dutty Wine’ and she gets into position to flip it on you – but you don’t quite expect it. It’s not your kinda song and you’d rather go sit down with her. You move closer to her to tell her this but from nowhere your face gets whooped by a pound of organic arm-length ‘shanikwa’ braids. You’re dazed but she’s too busy dutty wining to even notice the whole left-side of your face is swollen.

The DJ has put her on spotlight. She’s the main attraction and you’re just standing there getting upstaged. Everyone’s jeering and hyping her up and you’re still spitting out hair extensions from the previous head-butt (well, technically it was a ‘hair-butt’ but that’s just nasty). You try to back out to avoid any further embarrassment but your friends push you right back in. You know they wouldn’t let you get outclassed by a girl. You still haven’t proven to the crowd that you are the lord of the (dancing) ring. You’re seriously considering to do the Moonwalk then suddenly the DJ switches to Crunk – but you don’t know what the hell that is. Now you’re REALLY screwed.

As she starts to body-pop, your involuntary reflex is to shield yourself from attack. But all she’s doing is throwing arms in your direction like she’s going to beat you up. It’s so aggressive and so up close and personal that you fail to realize that tears are trickling down your cheeks. Everyone else notices though. They start to point and laugh at you. You can see your friends shaking their heads in disappointment. You’re too ashamed to ask for her phone number now. All you wanted was to have a quiet drink with the lads.You turn round to make a run for it but you trip over your own foot – What a clutz. You fall flat on the floor and fracture your nose. You’re bleeding all over the place. You’re definitely not having fun anymore. You want to go home. You want your mummy…

‘Hee-hee!’