Loco Over My Locks by Jera

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No, I don’t smoke cannabis, don’t get it twisted

Read it again, just in case you missed it

Every man and his dog is obsessed with my twisted follicle

That’s why I wrote this twisted chronicle

I wear these locks in solidarity with my brothers who, in locks and in chains,

Were packed into slave ships, exported for white man’s gain

Exploited on plantations, sun up to sun down

Beaten, chained, raped, gunned down

Centuries later, they were dumped on an island

Island of Jamaica, left to poverty and violence

I twist my follicles in sympathy with my brothers, out on the streets

Vagabond dread heads, rummaging in trash cans for scraps to eat

I do this because the look suits me

I’m making a statement, so go ahead - shoot me

I do this ’cause it’s the natural state of my hair

I do this because I can and, unlike you, I dare

Never, once, did Shaka Zulu’s hair feel a fine tooth comb

And never ever did Nehanda perm out her dome

A Hindu with a turban, to you, causes no harm

And a Scotsman, in a kilt, to you exudes some charm

But me in my locks

Scares you, like a hen next to a fox

Analyse this – dread locks – you dread my locks

Free your mind… for it is chained and locked