If Rap Gets Jealous

Excerpt from K’naans piece in the NY Times, find the whole thing here :  NY Times article by K’naan
“So some songs became far more Top 40 friendly, but infinitely cheaper.
On my second album, I had sung about my mother’s having to leave my cousin behind in Somalia’s war — “How bitter when she had to choose who to take with her…” Now I was left, in “Is Anybody Out There?” — a very American song about the evils of drugs — with only “His name was Adam, when his mom had ’im.
The first felt to me like a soul with a paintbrush; the other a body with no soul at all.
SO I had not made my Marley or my Dylan, or even my K’naan; I had made an album in which a few genuine songs are all but drowned out by the loud siren of ambition. Fatima had become Mary, and Mohamed, Adam.
I now suspect that packaging me as an idolized star to the pop market in America cannot work; while one can dumb down his lyrics, what one cannot do without being found out is hide his historical baggage. His sense of self. His walk. I imagine the 15-year-old girls can understand that. If not intellectually, perhaps spiritually. 
I come with all the baggage of Somalia — of my grandfather’s poetry, of pounding rhythms, of the war, of being an immigrant, of being an artist, of needing to explain a few things. Even in the friendliest of melodies, something in my voice stirs up a well of history — of dark history, of loss’s victory.”
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lithium

It’s the bird, it must have been the bird
Disgusting critter, it must
We should have known better then trust
This disease infested ball of lust and carnage
Piece of garbage with wings and she has the guts to sing
Get the bird, catch her shoot her, I don’t care
Get the bird, bring her down to the ground from out the air
Gotta tear her apart, let me at her first
Sink her to the level of the rest of us that inherit the earth

What’s she thinking? does she really believe
That she’s above the creatures that work the dirt and the streets
See her up in the tree, looking down at you and me
Like she’s chosen over those that walk around on two feet
The bird, the melodies she play
The music she make, rubbing our faces in the feces of the daybreak
Trying to remind us, it’s time to awake

Antagonizing and instigating my hate
The chirps, I turn them into screams
My feathered friend’s end will justify the means
Disturbed, I’ll grab her by her beak
And swing her in circles until she’s too dizzy to speak

Well I’ll shake her from her branch, tear apart her nest
Break her skinny legs and fry her eggs up for breakfast
(She’s a snake that can fly) she’s just food for the fleas
She thinks she’s better then me just because she’s free?
I’ll shake her from her branch, tear apart her nest
Break her skinny legs and fry her eggs up for breakfast
(She’s a snake that can fly) she’s just food for the fleas
She thinks she’s better then me just because she’s free?

My beautiful bird has gone away


This is for Sunrise.

very strange thoughts today.

The things I could tell you.
The things
I
could

tell you.

you will never know the creatures
traveling the synapses
in this headmaze

the things that have been mine
the nights I’ve spent

the infinite mess
tangled in my veins
—————————-
(that was a bit of a free-write)

so many many many memories.