Time to get out the layers and cling to the colors of the changing colors of fall. I dedicate peace, love and much music to you all. Never mind the BS of the Day...Funk The Fall and Work it Out...Sometimes You Just Gotta Scream and Shout...Sing!
Batty Boys Revenge
Lyrics by Troy Jackson
Mamma hate me/ Daddy in my face/ Brotha berate me/ Gotta leave this place/ Mamma loved me/ Just the other day/ Shoulda kept my mouth shut/ There was hell to pay/ Daddy looking at me/ Got nothing to say/ Sista/ Sistah tells me/ tellin me to pray/
Lookin ovah my shoulder/ For that last time/ Looking over my shoulder/ gonna leave this all behind/ Looking ovah my shoulder/ I had enough of it/ Looking ovah my shoulder/ I’m Gonna bypass this Bull/ that’s it/ that’s it
Preacher lead the chorus/ And they all pray/ Tell me?/ Who do you hate today/ Pace getting faster/ Oh mob on the street/ Bettah round that next corner before I get beat/ Nowhere to run/ Nowhere to hide/ Last week "Batty Boy Fi Die"
We Coming back/ we Coming back/ Coming back from the dead/ Brought back/ Brought back by those...
Battyboys bite back
http://www.fabmagazine.com/conversation/archive/332.html
Akim Larcher is the elegant, articulate and direct spokesperson for Stop Murder Music (Canada), the coalition responsible for the cancellation last month of concerts in Toronto and St. Catharine’s by dancehall artists Elephant Man and Sizzla. Both of these Caribbean icons are known for lyrics advocating killing queers. (Sizzla’s single “Pump Up” goes “Fire fi di man dem weh go ride man behind/Shot ...
Dangers here and abroad
http://www.fabmagazine.com/conversation/archive/327.html
A Slurpee lands at my feet. It had been thrown by a hateful group of little boys who got offended at the sight of me holding my boyfriend’s hand.
“Batty boys!” they yell in Jamaican slang. “Fucking faggots!” I respond to the heterotrash du jour with something as equally profound, turn on my heel and grab my boyfriend’s hand. Later we share a bitter...
Reverse gaybashing
http://www.fabmagazine.com/conversation/archive/329.html
I sat transfixed by the scene unfolding below. Seconds earlier, I had dialed 911 to report a possible gaybashing in progress. To my amusement, my assumption was totally wrong.
At around 3am the words “Fucking faggots!” woke my cat from his catatonic slumber on the windowsill. He moved to the chair while I perched myself in his place.
On Gloucester Street below, a young South Asian man, friend in tow, was yelling his homophobic garbage. On the corner, I could see and hear a young African Canadian male yelling “Stop calling me a...