WM (March 5,1962 / Kinston, Jamaica, West Indies)

Uphill Battles To Mountains Steep

Uphill Battles To Mountains Steep
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Monday, September 14,2015

No matter how much letters you send
It's just currency she needs to spend
She doesn't follow the latest trend
For herself, she has to fend

She has so many monetary expenses
Bowing to false Gods with false pretenses
She has to mend so many broken fences
She can only rely on her five senses

She only comprehends brutality
While you worship pure vanity
From her lips spews vulgarity
Instead of uplifting humanity

She only needs the dollars and cents
She keeps a fool in total suspense
She needs currency to pay her rent
From a little struggle, she is Hell bent

What she earns only makes a small dent
She can't tell where the money all went
Material girl that's full of argument
Her existence is bursting with discontent

Unfortunate girl, who knows not why
Every little thing she has to try
Even if she has to tell a little white lie
It's best to live rather than to die

Not every joke to her is funny
She wants brighter days that are full and sunny
She doesn't like her Patties runny
She wants a life of milk and honey

To her money is not the root of all evil
It's the affluent deceiving the people
With many men, she had to grapple
She has no time to bend knees at the chapel

She sings songs about the struggler's plight
Saturday's blues she'll turn it up tonight
Every day she has to put up a fight
Darker days she prays for a little light

She sold her soul and body to the street
It's so hard to find something to eat
Swollen are the soles of her feet
Paving walkways on concrete

She is tired of being in need
She has so plenty mouths to feed
Poor little girl never learned to read
Downtrodden still desires to succeed

She doesn't care how she's viewed
Just a little food gets her in the mood
Her line of grind doesn't call for the prude
Favors allude for currency is pursued

Even though her money is always gone
She finds the strength to carry on
On her back, she works dust till dawn
In the game of life, we're just another pawn

To be rich she would if she could
Crying time never does her any good
In her fireplace, they put the wood
Her life is totally misunderstood

She can't wait to have it made
For the time she gets paid to be laid
She has not time to be afraid
No time for violins to be played

In school, she couldn't make the grade
She dropped out and doesn't have a trade
Eagles spread her goods are displayed
She soldiers on in the suffers parade

Cried the little angel to sleep
For her, no one will weep
Blighted harvest nothing left to reap
Uphill battles to mountains steep

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