Mooma mooma yuh son in d grave ahready....
And some of us are just born into bois and bus’ head!
So, Ricardo, just call me Cooligan!... more
One of my earliest memories, so early that is only an impression on my memory and not a memory really, is of Pa, coming home with his head bust – blood dripping down the sides of his ears and Ma, mixture of fear and anger on her face, mopping up the blood with a wash cloth.
Then, the impression deepens into memory. I am sitting on Pa’s shoulders, a little more than a toddler. We are wading in predawn darkness through a forest of mud and grease-smeared bodies gyrating to the most sensational music of steelpan hung around the necks