Black Dreadlocks
With his red
Green an gold
Rubbin, dubbin
I was told.
He did not wear a crown of thorns
But never forgot who did.
The collie afi bun
In di blazin sun
Unda di evergreens
Pass di pipe
Let me lick di herb
I have a song to sing
For Miss Irene.
Black Dreadlocks burn
An ital stew
After washing di dreads
Inna holy urn;
So start di dub
Natty ready for lovin di tub.
Black Dreadlocks
Know himself
Was born to rule
Though Babylon play him for a fool
Natty ready
Natty dread,
Dread!
Dread!
Dread!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem