Born With A Plastic Spoon
by Chandi Sinnathurai
The fight is on
And the blood is split
Aint’ no point in talkin’ on
In Gobble de goo…
There’s no use for bullet proof
All gets killed
In this mighty goof
Except the ones who talk behind
Tinted glasses and bottled mineral water!
It’s all a spoof.
My Mamma got a bullet in her brains
Pops was lynched while my sister got gang raped
My brother is crippled by a hand grenade
And his son got pinched by the Police State.
There’s no use for bullet proof
All gets killed
In this mighty goof! Except…
Don’t publish what I write
Cause it rubs you the wrong way up
With a different sort of point of view
Don’t tell me to sophisticate
In the end you lie
And constipate.
You tell me to be bold while you’re a mighty coward.
You bolt behind hand shakes and synthetic smiles
The fight is on; my whole world shakes
And the innocent blood is spilt
Bloody hell it is!
Aint’ no point in talkin’ on…
In a language I don’t understand.
Don’t give me plastic love
Plastic Jesus with synthetic Cross
Pious clichés and pompous farce
You’ve got skeletons in the Mass.
Grape juice blood and lip stick wounds
I’m not show acting for medals and plumes!
Give me reality; O! Jesus of Montreal
Give me my sanity; ‘cause I’m bleeding mad
In my Christy Anity
That’s the real politik – a story so sad, yet untold.
Don’t publish what I write
‘Cause my name is not Judas Iscariot
I can’t be bought nor can I be sold
And I’m born with a plastic spoon in my mouth!
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