You’ve got that African Sauce,

It oozes in your smile, smile, touch…and it fills the air in your walk,

Each footstep a reminder of ancestors,

Nations, souls, dreams and all that sauce…

It’s tough out here Prince,

For the crown you wear is unseen,

So you drown in pop,

You consume a tongue that’s not your own,

It confuses your soul under the guise of education,

You frown at the words your ancestors used to say,

The crown you walk around with is unseen…but man, that African sauce…

You’re dipping sauce, hot sauce, fine sauce, cool sauce, sizzling sauce.

 

Son of Man,

Prince of Princes,

If only you’d hold your head up high,

Quit drowning in liquor you never knew how to brew,

and focus on that crown, then maybe, just maybe, you’d see what I see…

and for once that African Sauce would come through dripping.