Written by: Ọláwálé  Ọlọ́fọọ̀rọ̀

All over the world I’m known
But I’m still that kid from the ghetto
Where I’m from the tithe is the tax
And the people rarely make plans for the morrow

When the whole town is poor in their minds
And the slavery we chose we deny
This foundation is won’t survive
Into splinters it shatters


What a night
Strippers and white lines
And a fighter jet
That won’t fly

Being alone was all I had always known
From the pain was where my passions flowed
And I borrowed when I didn’t have my own
From the polity, folks who loved to moan

Win upon win and still can’t sleep
Life always bring suffering, you see
This dreams of mine they come alive
Into nothingness
It all falls down
What a night
Strippers and white lines
And a fighter jet
That won’t fly

What a night
It blooms and it withers and dies
And there’s a fighter jet
That won’t fly

What a night
Peaches and white wine
And there’s a fighter jet
That won’t fly