Mama Wear Da Crown

Mama Mama You the downest Mama Mama wear dat crown Mama held it down with the brushes of Yahweh on her right side Reverently agreeing with the gist “children are a gift” A little planting, A little watering and He will make them grow Painting with the strokes of her affection These instruments in her possession Mixed the wisdom of her palate fusion of healing juices twisted from her experienced life without flinches or regrets of the cards dealt Etched variable expressions of my features without the reflections of the price she had to pay Having missed the gentle friction of a Mothers pride against her cheeks Splashed all her siblings in a parade with bouquets, moods, attributes Protection from the dark monochromatic schemes of her own child hood I wanna lay down and scream because certain facets of my life Didn’t make good to dress her feet and grace of being first-born possessed not exact utensils needed for I would give anything to shower sparkling finish on her burnished skin and give her the place that she belongs in Among dignitaries underneath Sheba's crown Relentless to sprinkle aloud asking God to keep making me grow Mama Mama You the downest Mama Mama wear dat crown Ask that God keep making me sound