I’m from a place where
Poverty is a generational curse
Mother doesn’t work
Father is a deadbeat
Daughter sells her soul by laying on her back
Son steals to make ends meet
Babies make babies with other babies for the grant
To put food on the table
Survival is all that they want
The goal is to remain stable
I’m from a place where
Your bank account does the talking
If you have money, you are crowned a king
If you don’t, you are worthless
If you have nothing, you are nothing
The only respect you get is when you are laying in a box lifeless
The broke are voiceless
The poor are funny
The rich are ruthless
Their only love is money
I’m from a place where
Human life has no value
Our little sisters are raped by their uncles
Our brothers are showered with bullets
Women are killed by their beloved
Newborns are found in plastic bags
It is survival of the fittest
Fall of the weakest
The old bury the young
The parents are numb
I’m from a beautiful place called Uitenhage
It is no paradise
Even pastors sin
Crime is on the rise
Gangsterism is a fashion
Dreams are up in smoke
The new real is being fake
There is no hope
Drugs and alcohol are the only escape