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Single · Funk Doc Meth
Conscious Rap / Reggae Fusion / 90s Boom-Bap
Strange Country · Track 03
An upbeat, slow-sinking exploration of arrested youth, miseducation, and diaspora rebirth.
Preview · plays through the end of verse two
Interactive lyric sheet
Verse 1 · Ages 0–25
Born in the shadows where the concrete grows,
Black boy running where the cold wind blows.
Clock tick fast but the calendar froze,
Trapped in a classroom where nobody knows.
Twenty-five years in the factory lines,
Miseducated, just trading our minds.
Graduated to a world that was blind,
Searching for the peace that I never could find.
Curriculum heavy but the spirit was light,
They taught me how to read but not how to fight.
Stagnant in the hallways, wasting the youth,
Chasing their facts while they bury the truth.
Arrested development, checking the clock,
Systemic cages had their mind on the lock.
No money in the pocket, just debt on the name,
A quarter century wasted just playing their game.
Chorus
Though the road is long, winding through the night,
Looking for the valley where the morning brings the light.
We marching on to Zion though the shackles try to bind,
Leave the valley of the dry bones, leave the dust behind.
But we standard bearers — no, it is not yet Uhuru,
Look inside the mirror, see that black is not voodoo.
Zion is a mindset, Zion is the healing,
Reclaiming every moment that the system was stealing.
“...it is not yet Uhuru. Black is not Voodoo...”
Track story / concept breakdown
01 · Arrested time
The first half of the record confronts a standard institutional education system that consumed twenty-five formative years while separating knowledge from ancestry. Its rigid measures are contrasted with liberating teachings carried from ancient times and with the organic, natural intelligence that survives outside official approval.
02 · Diaspora winter
The final phase looks back from the diaspora, where rebirth arrives with mourning. Distance makes the artist question whether true communal love has died under migration and survival, or whether it remains hidden—waiting beneath concrete, cold, and separation to be remembered.
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