The artist is a medic in a world plagued with injuries.
She restores sight, to see the beautiful.
He heals hearts, with colourful canvasses.
He mends frayed ends with his chocolate cake.
She suggests new ways of moving with her dance.
Come on all you princesses In your wonderful frocks and headdresses. It’s Thursday, you’re thirsty To speak your mother tongue. Fine and dine in Wetherspoons, We may sing a tune or two. They may not have our callaloo fritters. They may not have our ackee salt fish. But company from back home is what’s in […]
Our prophet is profit. And our master is Mastercard 💳. There’ll be no visa without a visa card 💳. The modern day count is still a cunt. The poor have wagers with their wages, While the rich bitch about them on empty beaches. Class is like a glass 🍷 ceiling, It’s difficult to go through. […]