The Post Labor Day Wardrobe Blues


Labor Day, brother,

put them white pants away.

I reiterate: Labor Day;

put them white shoes away.

Nobody told that blazing sun up there,

but the etiquette polices get the final say.


Way past Labor Day,

shred that seersucker, fool.

The calendar say September,

so ditch them white bucks, too.

No matter what the thermometer say,

We talking ’bout society rules!


Science book say white jacket repel the heat

help to keep your arm pit dry.

Science book say dark clothes sorbs the heat

and make your poor body fry.

But the science also say they ain’t

no heaven to go to when you die.


Up in heaven, it always the month of May

Up in heaven it always the month of May

You can wear that white robe without no snooty dismay.


Gots to get to heaven to ‘scape global warmin’

Needs to get to heaven to ‘scape global warmin’

It be almost Christmas and the skeeters still be swarmin’


Oh, do Lawd, it Labor Day,

time to put them white clothes away.

Done be Labor Day,


gotta put them white clothes away.

Time to don you some wool

and pray for the Judgment Day

Yo dub poet hisself

Nassau Street Dub

Here’s the dub version of “Nassau Street Song,” copyrighted in 1987 by University of South Carolina Press

Click the arrow above for sound.


Mad Luke went down to the shanty town

To find the mon dat stole he wife.

With whiskey on he pantin’ breath

And wit he brother switch blade knife.


He be so mad he blood do scald

And tears gush out he bloodshot eyes.

He curse de two dat cause de strife

Still hoping’ dat it be a lie.


But in he heart he know it true –

He seen de looks dat she be given’.

He see dat mon a-hangin’ round.

He heard the wimmins whispering.


So he run down the street a-wailin’

Swearin’ he gwine put den underground.

De other folk look out dey door

To see what make dat devil sound.


When he get back to he own house

He kick de lock door open wide.

And there in bed be he own wife

With another mon by her side.


They rumble in dat shanty house.

Luke cut de mon, den cut he wife.

Dat bedroom be all colored red

Dat just last month been painted white.


De police siren scream through town

and lights was flashing everywhere.

And when the police squad show up,

Dey shocked to find that Luke still there.


Dey put den two under de ground.

They took mad Luke to the prison farm,

And now them two can’t cause no strife,

And now mad Luke can’t cause no harm.

Osmond Watson, "City Life"

Osmond Watson, “City Life”

Senator Hutto Versus the Baphoons

Bravo to Senator Brad Hutton D-Orangeburg who filibustered the baphoons who want to punish the College of Charleston for choosing Fun Home for summer reading.

Senator, this dub poem is dedicated to you.

Click arrow for sound (a must)

South Carolina legislature ain’t got no culture

State legislature ain’t got no culture

Bunch of baphoons, mon

fools, mon

Hutto sat upon de rock

and watch baphhon go by

sat upon de rock

and watch de babhoon go by

He say,

“Gwine fillabuster

them ignorant bible-thumpers

gwine say over and over

till my throat gone sore:

gwine say

“‘Hey, Senator Fair,

Senator Grooms,

Listen, you cracker ass baphoon,

you sanctimonious


son of a bitch

burner of de witch

arse-belching vulagarian,

self-anointed librarian            –

Hey, you, leave de the College alone!”‘

Wes Moore, dub poet/sun god

Wes Moore, dub poet/sun god

Follow on Twitter @ragwatercat

On The Road to Kiawah

Click great arrow for sound


Pick pocketed, mon

lot by lot,

field by field.


Pappy dirt gone forever, now,

sold for

dat ready cash, you know,

back in the day,

cash dat dwindle away

bit by bit,

drop by drop,

dollar by dollar



like water from a leaky







No, not a drop left, now, no.

So dat is dat,

De bucket dry,

Me pockets empty

here in the shade of a shed

across from a field of condo

on the road to Kiawah.