The sweet, sweet Jamaica gives you a bitter, bitter aftertaste. You end up in uptown Kingston with no money to waste. The dream of your lifetime is all buried and gone. And your life feels like it's buried and gone.
The sunshine leaves you feeling off track. While roaches and forty-legs attack your back. Harassed by taxi-drivers. Still we are the hardcore survivors. Cause you know we can't stand it. Can't pass it on to our neighbor and unhand it. We can't understand it. So we burn tires to demand it.
But, you know that it doesn't work. No cleric, Imam or some shouting church. We want something that touches our hearts. No demands. No shoe-shine nor no Clarks. We want something better so we can make our remarks. We want the best, not some larceny. If we can't get that we'll get you true anarchy!
Contributors: Thomas Rognmo