Even if in Private Schoolboy lands theres no hope..
As topless as me wandering the hills with his very expensive " deerhound"
" wow as you say... seventy six i wasnt even ten years from being born....a crazy long hot one endless days ... hahh hahh as you say....no hat no water bottle midday in red alert up here they wouldnt dare brainwashed theyll die even a short walk up the hill......its all just conditioning....then. out of nowhere true new passionate voices came.....startin with them Sexies ...... the ENERGY!... i agree the culture now is just awful..... lets hope its 'cyclical.'.."
"ehhhhmmm well its got worse lets hope thats before it gets better... that my gig... never off duty your part of the story too
not even a spare second to turn it right way round...
THE
END
be continued
in fact just how dodgya fake he was...
and i lived on his islands...
they all though him a sell out self goddifying pseud...
but of course Mister Monserat monetised himtoo
there was only one great rastaman who saw through all that confected fakery a whole way of life designed for only one causal effect...as they would privately say to me...
" brings the English girls in to our shacks ...and performative rasta beaches....like flies.... looking for only one thing... once weve got em to shut up about natural shampoo in the plants ...okrapoo... we can perform every morn and drag em in with... "
'English Harbour'... 1988
or 9
where the slave tables already were well and truly turned into someones 'advantage'
