The Ballad of Black Roy (For My grandfather)
Yesterday i was given the news my often eccentric, but also very old grandfather on my dad's side has gone to hospital. sketchy details, sounds like a stroke by the sound of it. around 1997 i started to see my grandfather after the passing of my dad. he was always a fun and amusing person to listen to, as he was from Kingston Jamaica, so i was never far from a "Raasclart" been mentioned. We later in life fell out and never spoke to each other ever again around the early 2000s, as his mind was slowly deteriorating. Everything mentioned in this sort of anti-tribute and fond memories of him i used are real, and not embellishes of the truth!
THE BALLAD OF BLACK ROY
(for my grandfather)
The smell of rotten meat
and onions pollute the room
to my left is a rusty machete
on a shelf that spells 'doom'
to my right you have a yellowing picture of Princess Di
its been there for 20 years in this pigsty
after been handed
a cup of weak tea
looks like we'll be watching the usual retro WWE
Survivor Series '90
we know the outcome of every match
I think to myself
"this man's mind is starting to detach."
Grandad would tell me stories of a how a 'bloody raasclart'
had done him bad
and about the dreams he'd had
like the one where he said he was kicked out of bed
by the ghost of my dad
I used to think
"you'd be be the last person he'd see"
but to him it was real
in his supernatural reality
We'd take rides in the car
with "Reet Petite" by Jackie Wilson always blaring
and that fucking Dukes of Hazard airhorn you had
left everyone staring
You developed an interest in voodoo
claimed you had people to curse
it was at that time i figured
you where getting worse
A descent of Jamaica
who sometimes wore a cowboy suit
got glassed in the face in club once
over a bouncing dispute
As "Mr. Whylie", the longest living on his street
who on every sunday
would play the Ska beat.