Poetry

---

(Rap of “BABY BOY”)
THE PRODICAL SON

I was born in the land of Milk and Honey
My Pops is filthy rich, He’s got so much money
I had servants and maids, I was my Mama’s joy
That Good-Lookin’ guy they call BABY BOY

My brother never smiles, He’s such a serious dude
Calls me lazy, obnoxious and rude
Always tellin on me cause my work is never done
But I’m BABY-BOY, I gotta have my fun

One day my Pops was lounging in his favorite chair
I told him I’m a man, I’d like to have my share
There’s so much out there, for me to explore
And You and Big Brother are such a bore

When he finally agreed, I gave a shout for joy
You better look out, here comes BABY-BOY
Headed for a far country, I waved good-buy
Gave my Mom’s a kiss and told her not to cry

All the women here say” LOOK and TOUCH”
The girls back home never showed that much
I said “Hey there cutie, you look so FAB
Bring your friends and let’s party, I’ll pick up the tab”

Woke up in the morning, I could hardly think
I knew last night, that was some strong drink
I called from the bed “Where are you honey”
But she had left in the night, and took all of my money

The Innkeeper frowned and kicked me out on my rear
He said “you’re three months behind, so your things stay here”
You REALLY did believe she was yours for life
But I heard BABY-BOY, she was another man’s wife

Like a youth who lacked judgement, you were wet behind the ears
You fell for her lies and her big fake tears
You’d be pushing up daises if her husband had caught her
She led you like an ox going straight to the slaughter

My home boys yelled, what you come around for”?
Fair-weather friends never mix with the poor
You’re really down and out, so I’ll give you a gig
You can stay in the pen, if you feed my pigs

I was cold and wet, and I hardly slept
Glad to share the food with the Hogs I kept
It’s so unfair that I should sink this low
I’m BABY-BOY and I got NO where to go

When my mind came to me like a lightning rod
I fell to my knee’s and said “Forgive me God”
I’ll be a hired worker, I’m not fit to be an heir
but all of Pop’s servants have food to spare

My Father ran towards me with a tunic in his hand
Put a ring on my finger and struck up the band
It didn’t matter to him, I looked a total wreck
He called for a feast and put my Brother in check

Kill the fattened calf, and lets celebrate
The dead is alive, and BABY-BOY is straight
Down on his knees with his face to the ground
He praised the God of our Fathers that his son was found


By Elaine Kelly Randle

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE