A Herbal Mystic
Rastaman, fight them back
With a heart attack.
Lick them back,
Like them beat you down.
Brace your loins, like a king
And let the natty blow in the winds.
Dread, burn Babylon
With a herbal mystic,
Mystic!
Mystic!
They killed The Savior,
Born in a manger.
Killed the prophets,
With hatchets.
And the liars are still standing.
The oppressor man
Still grand-standing.
So Bungoman say:
'You want to kill Ital,
make it swift
because this dread
is not adrift'.
Rastafari!
Rastafari!
Jesus is not dead.
Rastafari!
Rastafari!
Jesus is a Dread,
Dread!
Dread!
I can see Babylon burning.
I can see Babylon turning,
Turning red,
Red!
Red!
Red!
poem by Buxton Shippy
Added by Poetry Lover
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