Keep It One Hundred

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I’m over here chillin’, fantasizing about how he’ll ruffle my ‘fro.
I’m over here feeling sad for my sisters, my mother Africa’s ebony daughters:
Y’all know how it goes in that other country, that other harsher land,
The one they call ‘corporate S.A.’ – that land flowing with wine & money (so they say – I don’t know: I’m all about that organic milk and honey) –
That concrete jungle where self-expression – well what do they know about self-expression? – looking like clones of a clone of a WASP,
Three-thousand rand weaves and killer stilettoes,
-But you gotta pretend you don’t like food and have one Woolies apple for lunch;
Yes just the one, payday is khatshana but a girl’s still gotta munch.
Y’all know you’re living from paycheck to paycheck,
Tryna flaunt like you’re the boss, chile please – you gotta save up them Clicks points just to get you some floss!
Mister owns you: owns your time and not just from 9 to 5, owns your home and your fancy ride –
Hell, Mister even owns your fashion choices, dictates what you can wear right down to the colour.
Chile listen, try not to get it twisted.
Let your hair loose, or don’t – maybe put it up in a bun.
Wear your shoes high, or not – p’raps go to Bata and be phly.
Do you chile, just do you. Life is too short dammit, too short to be miserable.


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