Picture Perfect
Picture Perfect
My scriptures may not be holy
Though they hold the entire story
Of dirt, rubble and glory
The cold, City of Gold
My home, Egoli
My heart borne the boldness of soldiers
Though my war cannot be seen
By the masses hoarding borders,
Still pitching homes on a fence
Life in the middle, call me Malcolm X
Stuck between a rock and a hard place
The pendulum swings back and forth
To the rhythm of my heart pace
Listen to my blood race
While I'm tryna save face
All I hear the preacher say
"All we need to do is pray
For sooner come the final day"
Whilst today,
We struggle to see the sun set
The dried tears of the sun
Mark a residue path
See the gutters breathing
Steaming animosity
In a fogged out morning
See the black bags dug out
Scrapping for survival
Check the paradox
Poverty, living in the streets of the 'burbs
Where the curbs home the suits
Of these figures eating
Fishes off strippers tryna pay their way through life
Grants is like a cancer, which aids