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
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