But soon came back once more.
So fierce was his and Mother's fight
He'd slammed his dreadlocks in the door.
He'd often say, "Ras, go wit' Jah."
Or "Irie mon," or "Bumpaclot."
But deep down low he hated Ma,
He'd cheat on her, and drink a lot.
Dad sometimes took me to his work
When playing live at Reggae shows.
We went to where the chicken's jerk,
And where the best of ganja grows.
He'd laugh when I would roll a spliff
Too big and fat to fit my mouth.
He taught me how to play a riff,
And hide my dreads when way down South.
Ma would cry when Dad would leave,
And go back to his evil ways.
She'd cry at temple every eve,
During most high holy days.
Why would Rasta marry Jew,
Upon release from Attica?
And raise a son with dreadlocks too,
Underneath his yarmulka?
