'I'm fed up looking like Father Christmas,'Muttered Father Christmas one year.'I need a new outfit. I must move with the times.
I saw a bride splendid in white garmentsI saw a woman with one hundred children The children plump and firm within her arms,
Deep in the depths of a dark, dark pool lives a water monster named Billy McCool. He's got shiny scales of pink candy ice
He was seven and I was six, my Brendon Gallacher.He was Irish and I was Scottish, my Brendon Gallacher.His father was in prison; he was a cat burglar.
That fire, they said, was red as red as redas red as a fox, your lips, a cherry;that fire, they said spread and spread and spread,faster than a cheetah or a nasty rumour;
Say, Good mornin, Granny MaamaGood mornin, Grandpa Taata.Good mornin when it rainin.Good mornin when sun shinin.Good mornin.
One two three,you can dance like me.
With arms held highthat's how you start,let deh music touch your heart.
Jumbie jump highJumbie jump lowJumbie jumpin to calypso
Jumbie doin a dancein de silk-cotton treehe waitin for jouvayan steelban music to breakaway
Lying on the sofaall curled and meekbut in my furry-fuzzy headthere's a rapping beat.Gonna rap while I'm nappingand looking sweet
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.