Kotching in Atlanta

Basil Waine Kong

I didn’t come to 'merica to stay
I only came to learn and earn a little money
To go back home to build a house, buy a car and maybe a bar
But I now have seven grand pickney here
Who don’t know the joys and have no interest in the place I call yard
I yearn for the Rock but the rock won’t have me
While I am kotching in Atlanta, my heart is in Jamaica
I don’t want to stay but I cannot go
See me daya between the sheets of the bed I made
With no idea where the grass is greener
I try to duplicate Jamaica in Atlanta but the patties are neither Tastee or Juici
I play dominoes, drink rum punch and Red Stripe Beer
I can eat escovitch fish, curry goat and rice but it’s not Cooshu’s
I can get fried fish, bammy and festival but it’s not at Hellshire Beach
I scream for run raisin ice-cream but it’s not from Devon House
I watch cricket matches but it’s not at Sabina Park
I read the Atlanta Journal Constitution but it is not the Gleaner
I enjoy all the comforts of home but it no home
I miss Mass Birtie, Mother Blake, Uncle Benji, Brother Boogs and Aunt Poochos
Greeting me with “mawnin” and “God bless you” when I share what I have with them
Sorrel and fruitcake in December only make me long for Father Christmas
I don't want a "Merry Christmas" I want a "Happy Christmas"
I can watch 200 stations on my TV but find nothing to watch
Instead of pumpkin beef soup on Saturday I now eat hamburgers and beans
Mi Belly full but mi hungry