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lyrics

Kings of our own fields.
Kings of our own table
We want to find a place that is stable
Stop right there, we must digress:
Every people in their progress
Have a chance to go onward, but they choose to regress
Kwikala Balopwe
Don't let these words coolya
Don't let memories foolya
Don't let history schoolya, to be kings, kwikala balopwe
They came to the village when we were kings
Dethroned, now just a cog in the wheel of their workings
They left us in the shadows when they tried to light the room
But who needs light or darkness? We had the sun and the moon
White skin, but a black heart, they worked off our tails and ran
We can't catch up to them: The chase around the Baobab began.
He came into the cities, proclaimed us kings
He spoke of pride, three ZZZs, and promised many things
Soon the lies began to mount, dissolving spirals of negation
Dignity for emerging nation, just a figment of imagination
(He's got) black skin, but a white mask and the same black heart as the colonists
He made us all into thieves to keep himself the klepto-collosus
Burn the fields, clear off the table, changing season, new crop will enable
The storms are over, the sky is blue, no more will be done to us, it's time to let us do
They came into the prison, hear the sound of our chains breaking
But will they just be left to rust or forged for some new under-handed-taking?
We didn't need to be captives, but do we still need a king?
We drum out in a new direction, hear shouts and rhythm begin to ring
No face, all heart, this dance will be more challenging
But if our time has come.......we will sing

credits

from Life in the Underground, released November 18, 1998
music & words by baba ndjhoni
arranged & distilled by chemystry set

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Chemystry Set San Francisco, California

Musicianship tight as an atom, music wild and roaming as the imagination of the unknown. It’s like everything and nothing I’ve ever heard, a screaming reminder that rock is rebellion and must be reinvented each time it’s played, or else it’s just pop.

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