Man Like Yamen


“Yamen just talking about how far he’s come. The struggle.

Moving to a foreign country and  why h’es doing what he’s doing for the mandem.

Shouout to Osa, SonofGuruvé, Ryan, Ashok! Your Cousin, Charlie,  the Newcastle 4-4-2 New Year Mandem! But this one’s for Manchester! ”


Man now I’m buzzin!


What’s good Darling?

Didn’t I meet you in my Hood?

Maybe in school?

Remember when you called me a fool?

Now I’m so good, so Cool, a fucking Bull!

Man the Stadium and the Stands are Full!

Man like Yamen,

I’m Distressing,


For the youts and the?

The Manchester Mandem!

So solid!

Not London,

Osas brother,

Uni Mates with my brother Ryyyaann!

Yes so Flawless! So Foreign!

Mayonnaise seats!

Yes It’s a ducking German whip!


When I started I was in the fucking Conference!

Now German Championship,

But imma a Manchester Champion!

Man you should have seen!


Yeah 1999 I been dreamin!

About the Champions League!

For my Mandem!

Yeah his name is Yamen!


Verse 2

Man I’ve been scoring,

Never Falling! Striking Golden!

No Fake friends!

Afro B said it Man I bun them!

Man Like Yamen,

Sometimes in London,

But Imma give yuh this Faya from my Boot!

Sloth! Yes he’s a Boss! Paid tha Cost!

Now I’m Bugzy Malone with that Fire in the Booth!

I see yuh hatin,

But Imma a lone striker!

yes Imma a Sniper!

Bundesliga Killa!

Go Figga!

I’m the Nigerian African Jigga!

Wot do you you call me again?

Call me a dragon,

A black Stallion,

Also known as Yamen!

Man I score all the fucking time!

Man I got a Nine!

May gal so Fine!


Yeah I wear 35,

Quick Maths Quick Striker minus 26 goals!

Yeah I’m a Numba 9!!!!


Chorus x2

Outro – [German Football commentary of Yamen Scoring or Interview]

Arsenal ft. Mike G


Man, so it’s been a dreadful week. Sadly, I had to write two songs for two very good friends of mine who sadly passed away one day apart. I don’t really want to talk about it, but for those who do, please share this post.  I lost a very good friend who was going to be the CFO of #TribeofGuruve.  Unfortunately this will not happen because he retired his Arsenal jersey.

I hugged his Mother, Father, Brother and sister yesterday.  Without their approval, I would not be posting this piece.  I sincerely hope you enjoy it.  It’s called “Arsenal” – SonofGuruve ft. Mike.

Select a victorious, yet melancholic song of your choice then read it while listening to it in the background.

Here is what inspired SonofGuruve’s “Arsenal” ft. Mike G:

  • Young Thug feat. Millie Go Lightly  – “She Wanna Party”
  • Future – “Incredible”  
  • *Bonkaz – F**k Fame (Full Mixtape 2016):Song #2 – Bonkaz –  “What Tha F** is Fame?”
    • Song#7 – Bonkaz ft. Greey – “Complicated”.

*We are not sure what team Bonkaz supports to be honest, but he got us there.

“Arsenal” — SonofGuruvé ft. Mike G.

Man, today it’s North London Sunny,

but I’m feeling kind of cold,


Man, Mike may your soul Rest In Peace.

You led me to seal those three Ps.

3 Points, but you gave me pretty, precious, peace.

Man, a major victory,

I had to stop rhyming,

Man just to take a seat,

When I heard about the tragedy!

No lease,

Too many Fees?

Your contract came to a sad end,

But I’m gonna be the best,

Because you freaking said it.

Mike for the Hell of it!

We were supposed to go to the Emirates?

You gave me so much luck,

Man, even 100 bucks!

Man it freaking Sucks!

Man Mike remember that day at Rira’s?

FA Cup?

Man with your Fatha,

Matha, Finally met your Sistah and Brotha!

Wenger In, Wenger Out!

Man you had so much Luck,

You had so much buzz!

Man, Mike what’s the fuss?

I’m on my way!

Remember, I’m not Chelsea,

Man never stops moving!

I never Park the Bus.

Don’t Test Us.


Man, Oh Shssss*!

I lost two friends in a week!

So Peak!

Mandem was was my G!

I’m a Boss now, because of people like him!

They don’t understand,

They don’t even ask the question why!

Today I’m a Gunner,

You WIll Never Walk Alone, my mandem Mike.

Remember #Nocopyright.

Verse 2

Man gimme one second,

Man gimme One Minute,

This is for all the fake people,

Checking to see if I’m cool!

One second mayne – Man I’m just saying.

Remember when I was sick of the same?

When I wasn’t feeling well?

And you left me laying? You Ghosted right?

Now I’m roasting,

Man I’m toasting,

Belly flopping!

Mandem AFRICAN Ghost writing!

I only want you to know that people come and go!

The devil tries to deceive!

Man he makes you think,

Makes your brain freeze!

Man it’s a disease! Stop that Hubreeeeze.

Feel the breeze!

Man, I meant Hubris!

This one’s for the ones who didn’t make it.

Man Mike we we we WE!

We gonna freaking make it,

Yes I freaking said it!

Yes I freaking said it!

Do you want me to repeat it?!

We gonna make it!

We GUNNER ready!

Allan Donalds – Yes a golden duck?

Don’t I still owe you 100 bucks?

Back to footy – Man I’m on the run!

Pass that Ball Mike!

Man I promise – I’ll give it back!

Man I’m on the run!

You was a fool, a real funny tool!

Though you’re gone!

I’m gonna score that goal,

Imma Be a stunner!

Be a Freaking Goonner!

Man like Mike you were my favorite Gunner!

Mike I’m a gunner for you,

I’mma run up on em!

Score that goal for you!

Man you was my dude!

You were so cool,

Gave me your couch when no one else would.

Remember when you restored my energy?


I’m a Red Bull!

Rest In Peace!

Man you my Gunner G!

Man Like Mike, Man Rest in Peace!

It’s like you never Left!

[Chorus x 2]

Outro [Mike Talking and Laughing]



Call me anytime or call 1-800-273-8255 if I’m unavailable.  All proceeds related to the use of “Arsenal” song go towards Mike’s Family.  I believe they set up a Foundation or Memorial in his name.  Please a comment about your favorite Memory of Mike Go. 

Rest in Peace.  Hooligans will never be the same, and you will Never Walk Alone.

#Mike #Philadelphia #Eagles #Mike #LikeMike #RIP #Tribute #Homie #Friend #GoodBye #Tribute #SonofGuruve #USA #Zimbabwe

©️ SonofGuruve 2018


So in my last post, “F is for February” I wrote about a personal frustration with Valentines Day, Black History Month and paid tribute to #blacklove I was recently introduced to.  Nowadays, I consider myself a friendly social disruptor bringing hopefully bringing hope to the masses, a preparer of good, tomato sauce, and ghostwriter for the man dem and gal dem quietly.So another frustration.Why do I have to wait till Mothers Day to appreciate my mother?  I started writing this piece yesterday evening when I was waiting for friend and fellow artist @Tamramusic to arrive at my compound or hut that has no couches.  We cook, reflect and write. Why spend all that money wrecklessly? In any case, I gave up eating out for Lent, so here we are.Regularly and carefully, I disclose some of our #Tribesmen and #Tribesladies as long as they are comfortable with the exposure and disclosure.  If they already have an online presence, it’s usually okay.  The ones you should worry about are the ones who remain anonymous because they love their privacy.  I protect it.  I salute and honor their wishes because they are true ghosts.  I guess I’m the public overly talkative ghost, trying to lead the tribe collective one post at a time for the man dem and gal dem.  We kind of need a marketing strategy hence, welcome to this website. Just the other day on our Instagram story we said,

“Corporate Ghosts,

Man you can’t kill us (our spirits)

or Penetrate our Hosts (our minds)

Not seeking fame,

That would be doing the most!

PhD Ghosts out here working so hard – so our mothers can Toast!”

So, she is just a little girl from Rusape, Zimbabwe. Her mother had green eyes, golden hands and bronze skin.Her mother used to call me “Mabunhu” which if you google, it means “white boy”. Well lowkey puzzling but when I was five years old till I was thirteen, my best friend was Dikson.  He is @ComradeFatso’s little brother.  Yes, the one who founded #ShokoFesitval and started #MotoRepublik in Zimbabwe.Dikson doesn’t know he’s in the #TribeofGuruve, but he’s the kind of lad that doesn’t need an application to join our #Ghosthood.  He is a master at this writing stuff, but nonetheless, this post is not about him. It’s about her daughter.It’s about the little lady where I get my funnies from.  The little lady whose bosom gave me strength to grow my tiny bones – after a remarkable premature birth in the late 80s. Then,  Zimbabwe was literally on tribal fire.  I don’t want to go into the circumstances besetting my big sister Zimbabwe at the time, but let’s just say I am lucky to be alive and so is she.   Part of why I used to have random nosebleeds in my adolescent years is because I flew from the back seat of her little green Golf, hit the windscreen in a car crash.  I have survived many since then. The sheer luck of the ancestors, right?Part of why I have 20 stitches on my  left thigh is because she rushed me to the hospital in Macheke, Zimbabwe.  Patrick used to make fun of me about it, but it’s okay. I forgave him. One day in 1999 my Yugoslavian brother Branko UK got a black eye for trying to defend me and my scar.  One Blue with Mr. Trinci was a gas though.  Maybe that’s why every time the “new Yugoslavia” plays I support them individually (Bosnia)and wholeheartedly.  Just the other day, I watched USA draw with Bosnia.  A fellow Bosnian was the first person to text me when Zimbabwe was all over the news in November 2017.  He too, was the first person to text me when Morgan Tsvangirai passed away.  Zimbabwe has mad love for Bosnia. But do you?Anyway, I still remember the pain of each stitch piercing my naked, brown skin because they didn’t use anesthetic.  Well, that’s what you get  for trying to climb through a cracked glass door. Yes, I know I was foolish. It’s called youthful exuberance.After one of my mischievous escapades, I decided to scale the ladder of our ZUPCO sponsored home and fell backwards. Go figure what happened next. I fractured my elbow in three places.  Lowkey – I was so proud of my cast like it was a rite of passage.  All the six year old gal dem signed my arm including my crush Jane Norrissey.  Anyway Baba, was doing some graft, before he worked too hard and got a home.

The good old days of Zimbabwe, man. That barely happens nowadays – but it still does.  Companies still give plenty benefits, but now sadly not as many as the late 90s – very few. Hopefully, the new Zimbabwe provides restoration to this fruitfulness.

Part of why I have a cast in my first grade picture of Mrs Dzvairo’s class in 1992, is because this little woman rushed home to take me to the Doctor.  Ironically, this Doctor’s son would become the Head Boy at my High School thirteen years later.I sadly couldn’t be there when she slipped on some ice and broke her ankle a couple of years ago.  It pained me that 4,000 miles separated us.  As if FaceTime or Skype was going to allow me to return the favor.  Please my G! The same little lady who cried with me when I didn’t know what to do about being temporarily homeless in a foreign country. I had nowhere to go, so she and her husband, Baba give me all her little pennies for me to get something to eat and water to drink. The same little lady that would make Razzle Dazzle and I try on her nieces dresses because we were supposedly the same size. It was hilarious, but it’s all because she has a good heart and wanted to make her little nieces happy.  *Special shout out Lulu and Lucy and Aunty Sally.She’s the first person to listen to my songs, read my blogs and leave comments 4,000 miles away.  Even when her iPhone stopped working, she’s the kind of woman who would rush to an internet café just to google “SonofGuruve” and read our art before you do.Even through her own sadness or pain, you can always hear her ironing or cooking for the family – daily.  Sometimes unappreciated, I feel deeply sad I can’t take her out for coffee on a random day.  I would do anything to fly her here to cook me Sunday dinner.  I can count the number of times she has done so in the last eleven years – on one hand.   But it’s okay, she prays for me everyday.  At least she sends me unprofessional selfies of her cooking too.I feel bad that I never helped her with chores enough before I left for the United States to study at Bearcat University. I simply took advantage of this little lady, now I’m out here burning my food and spending too much money eating out.  I’m so grateful she taught me to always use olive oil and wait till the onions are glassy before adding the tomatoes and spices. She’s the woman who’s always “Busy” on the line when I try to call her on Sundays because, she’s solving someone else’s problem or lending someone some money.  That’s my Amai.Oh, I didn’t add that she foolishly ran away from her rural home to join the liberation struggle of Zimbabwe and witnessed bombings at camps in the wilderness of white minority ruled Rhodesia.  I’m not sure how she was able to study for some exams and end up with a scholarship to study in Sierra Leone at the then illustrious Farabay College.She’s the reason I always order Karlberg everytime I’m at the Alley Pub.  Dixon will tell you. I convince myself that I am pouring back into her bosom each time I take a sip of that Danish lager.As I type this, and as you read this I want to let you know that I am who I am because of my Mama. I love her, and I hope you love yours too.If your mother is no longer here with us, I want to let you know,

“Live an honorable life that she can be proud of.  You too, can find an earthly mother.  I don’t know what that grief is like, but there are plenty available”.

I’m glad that I when I moved to the United States, I found American mothers who my mother probably asked her Lion Tribe 🦁 ancestors I’d find.  I don’t have to wait till Mother’s Day to write about her.  This post has been in the works for four years, I just didn’t  know how to deliver it.  I figured it would be more special if she didn’t expect it.It’s also dedicated to all the mothers I have including Juanita (“Juju”), Ms. Sandra and Annitta who were temporary replacements for Charie, and hugged me when I lost Ndudzo some years ago and when @DJLeonsa and Mikeyy passed away this week.This post is dedicated to my Mother, Charie.I love you.Anyway, I’ve got some Afro Beat jams to ghostwrite for the mandem.Bye Chale!*I have not gone through everything Tupac says in his song neither has my mother, but its perfect. As you were ladies and gents.  Have a good day and give your Mummy a hug.  If you see Charie, give her hug and say it’s from her first-born son, SonofGuruve.© SonofGuruvé 2018

F is for February

I get rather upset in February because of society’s expectations thrust upon me. 

I did lose two friends just two days ago so it kind of sucks right now. But I soldier on.  Don’t call me unless you’re in the #TribeofGuruve.  Otherwise – text only.

I’m a short, bold black man a.k.a “Prince of Zamunda” by my buddies particularly Bobby who’s a former Marine.  We always exchange political jabs, but at the core – despite our differences in race and political affiliation, we are good friends.  I was telling him the other day about why I’m not a fan of February.

I wonder why I’m limited to celebrating #BlackHistory during the shortest month of the calendar? Secondly, why is my checking account relegated to the ashes because of all the unnecessary content-consumption on telly, #Wallymart superstores and #radio?  Every girlfriend I’ve ever had, whether Zimbabwean, English, American, or Egyptian, exerted this pulsating pressure on me, and my little kindred spirit always caved in. Back then, I was a frail, little boy.


But now, things have slightly changed.  I’m not as frail, but leader and #ChiefWarrior of a #ghostwriting collective of African Ghost Artists.  The modus operandi I set upon them is to politely be a #rebel with a cause, stay classy and challenge the #statusquo – respectfully, proportionally and delicately.  Part of why we don’t talk or reveal who we work for is because we are not worried about being famous.  The joy we get is purely from knowing our words are HELPING OTHERS one article, one song, one music compilation or one newspaper column at a time.

Do you know what it’s like to have some of the most influential people in various industries and disciplines across three continents in your WhatsApp group, and not be known? It’s pure gold.

That’s why we used to say we have death in our pouch in the tagline on our Homepage.  I charge all our African Artists to bring  that poison, but only to use it for good.  Part of the reason we politely ask for you to pay us for our silence is based on one simple quote shared with me countless times.  I never really understood or listened to it until I suffered the harsh, unimaginable and ineradicable consequences.  Trust me daddy, the consequences cost me quite a couple of grand, but it’s okay.  Money comes, and it goes.  I’m more worried about the purity of my soul nowadays.  I’ll let our Ancestral Spirits handle the rest.  All things come around full circle, so if you’re reading this and feel a certain way, oh well.  You know who you are.  The tribe is always watching and so is the Sun.

My grandfather Sekuru Sarikosi always said,

SonofGuruve, usaise zvinhu mumhepo.

That’s our native tongue in Guruve, Zimbawe, Africa. It’s called Shona. The English translation is:

SonofGuruve, don’t put things into the wind.

Simples mate.  Don’t use your tongue to rob yourself of what you ought to be or what you ought to achieve.  The tongue is intimately connected to your spirit and certainly leads to the physical and especially if you’re not careful. 6Lack said it best,

Be cautious where you play.

I’ll be cautious and adapt it to, “Be careful what you say, and who you say it to”.

Do you think we just started writing these raps, blogs and songs for my mandem overnight? Absolutely not.

I‘ve been writing my whole life, so I started this little hustle with an iPad and an iPhone, told some people, but had to do it alone when they wouldn’t frolick with me.

 Look man, you can either speak life or death to whatever you are intending to accomplish in this short-lived journey we collectively call life.  Ironically, it’s Valentines Day today and I’m sad.  I couldn’t be there for my dear friend Mike who passed away just the other day.  He spoke so much light into me when I was in my own darkness.  I just wish I could have returned the favor. Man, damn!

If I ever hear any of my tribesmen or tribesladies speaking evil or uncouth things, they are temporarily suspended so we can unravel what spirit or fountain they are drinking from.  Just be careful with what you put out there man.  An old friend once said,

#SonofGuruve, always muddy the waters!

But whoa, as our Board member, Fables agreeD that I should be glad and not drink from that fountain.  It’s still under consideration though, because I haven’t unraveled exactly what it meant.

So the #TribeofGuruve exists to put that juice, sauce and empowerment out there for the voiceless.  When I started writing this blog post at 5am this morning, I didn’t quite realize we would arrive at this juncture, but I’m cool with that.  I hope you are too.  It’s from the heart and it’s organic like fresh Italian sauce oozing from the frying pan.  I’m also hopeful that you are not too offended by the image appended.  It’s artistic and I thought through it for a while.  I guess it grasps our funky audience’s conscience before we try to write and hopefully reach them.  I knew this post would do well when the same picture was on my Instagram @SonofGuruve and received likes I’d hope are of appreciation and anticipation.  I’m sure there will be a 50/50 split and likely my African Mandem parents, aunts and uncles will be blowing up my WhatsApp inbox.  But that’s ok because they come from a good place.  I just ask for the bigger picture of this body of work to be reflected upon.  Not everyone understands or appreciates the art produced at #TribeofGuruve. You can’t always cave to everyone’s demands in the face of what I’d like to call artistic adversity.  Art is individualistic. You create, the audience reacts. Simples.

I was listening to the mandem Burna Boy and it pretty much inspired this post in twenty minutes and a couple of edits of course.  I’ve been reminded by my Baba to check my posts more frequently before I post them – so hopefully this one is perfect.  Burna Boy is definitely my favorite Naijah mandem out there right now.  As you may know he is a an artist like us at #TribeofGuruve.  I’ve followed him for a couple of years, and one day I’m going to ghostwrite for him.  Only thing, is he’s so good, he probably won’t need me.

Did you see what I did there? I know I put it in the wind, but yo, sometimes you have to speak special tingz into existence – as long as they have good intent.  Perhaps it’s a positive affirmation Sekuru would provide an exception for. I still think if he was still alive and preaching today he’d say,

“Nah, YoungKilla, keep that info low-key!”.

 I guess it’s about that balance – that Natwest Balance, Cyaga! Oh, so before you read on, special shout out to the funniest mandem inna London right now. Man like, #MCQuakes! Google him for plenty funnies. Below is an audio for Burna Boy’s “Wickedest Love”.

So today is Valentines Day. Okay.  So what?

F your February

Man come on man,

Man come on man,

Man gimme time, gimme once second,


Why the f am I in debt man?

Man, so much ps, So much man,

Why Mandem? In debt fam?

My  white gal left me AND,

But I’ve healed and,

Recovered from all of that pain and,

Man, come on man!

Been there n done that man,

Why the f man?


Man, Mandem!

Losing so much money?!

Just for Feb-ru-ary?

Not coming to that party,

Man come on darling?

Pardon me!

But adverting?

 Got you spending on all that jewelry?

Man, come on man!

Come one Man.

Damn Fam!

F is for, F your February!

F your February,

Yes, yes I fn  said it!

Only get to celebrate it?

Being black and loving you,

Only inna Feb-ru-ary?

Well come on, man!

Gerrahere mayne! Knnaaa wha I’m sayin?

Man, Come on baby,

Come put it- put it on me.

Shoutout BBC1XTRA, Shoutout Charlie too!

For giving mandem Faya in the fn Booth!

Sloth Imma hold you down,

when I’m in London town,

In tha summa now, Man two twos now!

Man got my visa! Give Charlie Sloth a

Mega pizza!

All right now,

All right darling Imma hold you down,

With this golden crown.

Can I see your gown?

Geeez. Baby please!

Now please don’t frown.

I’m an African n I’m out of town.

I’m the Burna Boy of this writing sound,

Death in our pouch!


Imma give you the? the wiki-leaky sound,

From March all the way to January baby,

Imma love you.

So Come on man!

One month man?

28 days for all that Black History?

Only inna inna Feb-ru-ary?

F what you heard man,

It’s black love man,

The wickedest love man,

Bumper to bumper man,

My peng ting’z name is Niniola.

Man, My baby so gorgeous, Man she so focused,

Flawless! Oh, I love you baby! She’s my black princess!

Man I’m writin scribin  jam – Like!

Haha-haha-haha Get it?

Yes it’s Heinz sauce and,

Yes! Yes it’s Red!

YNWA,  yes I’m a freak n I’m fn Red!

An African warrior man!

Anfield to be exact,

So can you feel me?

Call me John Bread, Butter or Buns-ey,

Get it? John Barnes, Yeah he ate with me!

That JamaiCAN,

 That Black mandem,

Delicious Chicken, Yeah chicken Jerky!

Man he coming, Man, Man Get Ready!

Four- four-two- Mandem,

It‘s for the weekend!

Shoutout to Muhammad from SevenEleven!

Playin for Pool?

Yeah in the Eighties man.

I’ll take you back to school,

Way Back when,  man way back then?

Number 7 maybe,

But the bredda was so peng  at scoring pens,

Man ask a friend!

Scoring peng goals, had peng tingz,

So much Black Bling! Imma Black king,

Oh yes AND we rising!

Brov you think you winning?

1-0 right now, but imma ghost B!

I got all the zeros, many many plenty,

That’s why you can’t see me,

I’m out here,  Ghost-wriding a bad lady!

Paying my tithes n’!

Always in my kitchen, man I’m always cookin!

So Solid,

Now they all wanna do, is f with my food.

But Yes I said it! Rude boi Don’t you ever test it!

Not no contesting, F is not for Forgetting,

It’s actually F squared for F your February,

This one’s for the Black mandem and galdem, that are black lovin!

You are all so lovely!


Because I love my black love daily.


Yes, still.

-drops mic.


I’m only hopeful a rudeboi doesn’t try to bite these lyrics. We will write to you my G. We use plagiarism and image checkers which as a matter fact are tools for finding misappropriated content.  One of the items we use is called Copyscape. You simply provide the URL of your written material, and Copyscape searches for any other web pages where the same content appears.  Our hope is simply to request credit whatever that means to you.  When we find someone using our original text or photos without giving credit, we beat some drums, meet as a Tribe and decide how to respond.  Here’s another thing I’m going to put in the wind:

The only person who has the sole right to pull up and sing a bad boy remix to Wickedest Love or whateva using SonofGuruve’s lyrics to “F your February” is Burna Boy.  Did you see what I done? Maybe, but special shout out to man like J Hus!  He has permission too.  As you read this, you might be able to mash it up in the booth too.  But for now, hit the Contact Us page for the mandem. Our attorney who’s a bad gal ting from Barking will be as helpful as she can.


Peace, Love, Positivity and Good Food.

**PS Man might just go to the studio to spit these bars himself you know, but I forgot that studios don’t rent their spaces to ghosts. Damn.

#ValentinesDay #Africa #Guruve #Love #Wind #Red #Liverpool #Debt #Money #BurnaBoy #Sekuru #Zimbabwe #Bloggers #Content #Creators #Copywright #263 #Twimbos #BBC1XTRA #BurnaBoy #JHUS #Rudeboi #CharlieSloth

© SonofGuruve 2018


I lost a friend the other day, so I wrote a rap about him.

~#rip @DJLEONsa


Did you get my message?


Did you get my message?

Did Ya? Did ya? Did Ya!?

Homie Homie Homie?

I sent you a text message,

Bro let’s get faded!

Come on man! Why is it still unread?

Come Again!?

Open it! Man, Open it!

Man I assumed you’d  be up at Noon.

Zoom, ZOOm, ZOOM,


Man DJ Banda, DJ Leon!

My Zimbabwe DJ MANDEM,

I remember that time in my room,

In Biology with Thaba, Timbaland and Magoo!


Incredible, Incredible,

Incredible, Incredible,

DJ Leon u incredible.

Shortman Hustla


Man Beating those DRUMS!


Never numba 2,

We met in SET 2,

Man I’m so hurt,

Man I’m crying over you.

RIP Sahwira!

Man Beers in Cooler!

But my heart is feeling colder!

Incredible, Incredible,

DJ Leon u incredible.

No weed, but so clean, always lean,

Always a KING!

No bongs, I guess I was wrong!

Man, I guess I COPiedWRONG.


Sent you a message,

Bro It’s still unread!

Sent you a letter too,

Are you still in the Booth?

Did you read my message?

I thought you left the BOOTH?

Rest Easy Home,

We were so misunderstood,

Man, Same Hood!

Leon man you were so good,

Beats been drumming like good food ,

Wanted to introduce you,

to Wretch32,

But funny coz I havent met him yet!

Why,Why, Why?

Not tigers,


Same school,

I mean they beta give you a beautiful sendoff,

Not being rude,

but if they don’t, I’ll be moving South,

Wakanda Warrior!

You had death in your pouth,

I meant POUCH!

Sorry I’m stuttering.

What the f am I supposed to DO!?

Who’s gonna help me make this good food!?


We never spoke often,

WE were so Fresh to DEATH but now,

But now you in a coffin.

Muthafn Boppin,

Always HAPPY Balling,


Shout out to SET 2

SET 2!

Set to Never!

Set up to NEVER LOSE!

DJ Imma See you later!

I’ll always love ya!

[Outro Audio of @DJLEONsa talking]





#sing #it #if #you #want #adapt #I #dont #want #your #money #but #your #dontations #can #be #deposited #at

Send to:

#All #proceeds #go #to #his #family #to #assist #with #whatever #they #need.

Geez. Peace. That’s me.

No COPYRIGHT. Go ahead Rude Boi.

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Ice Cream


Juan Take’s Cover for Ice Cream

“Politics is hot these days,

But these ni**as eating ice-cream,

City’s pretty dirty,

But these ni**as looking quite clean.”

– Juan Take

Klarki Zim from the undisputed Class of ’04 at the Jesuit Dragon College sent me an audio of our classmate’s tune called Ice cream.  Instantly, I got in contact with the visual director who provided the cover photo.  I rushed to my creative space to scribe some thoughts.  My euphoric freedom: my pen, pad and paper.  My youthful exuberance in capturing thoughts is my daily spiritual healing and self-care.  I urge you to do the same.  I haven’t been the same since I realized I could assemble a couple of words together.  Some read, some write, some launch Facebook Live and some go to the gym.  Some sing, but some are poetic artists I like to call rappers.

Remember when I wrote Blood on the Blouse? That was written early 2017 during some testy, cantankerous times in this journey we collectively call life.  The personal circumstances were compounded by the fact that my homeland, Zimbabwe was going through even worse.  At least, I was insulated by this Diaspora life right, but I knew that without the sheer grace of being Amai’s first-born son, I would be suffering ineradicable experiences because of a government failing to free my big sister – Zimbabwe.

Blood on the Blouse is rather graphic, and I realize why it’s my most read piece. I delve into this beautiful girl called Zimbabwe who was born April 18, 1980.  I expand on how she was being raped needlessly and multiple times without being given the chance of bearing and giving us grandchildren.  She was hurting and there was sadly blood on her once innocent blouse.  Here’s an excerpt I wrote when Zechariah and I were in the New Age Africa studio.

“She told me that Bob Marley came to Mbare’s ghetto Rufaro Sports Stadium and sang about her in the ghetto while the rest of the world was watching.  She got to be known all over the world.  She was honored by Kings and Queens and she remembers a cozy, yet deceptive relationship with the Commonwealth.  I began to learn more about my sister, Zimbabwe and in due time, good grades in my seventh grade allowed me to enter the best boys school in her city.  Suddenly, I had to leave because frankly I had to go and so did 3 million others.

Zimbabweans are at the core of the most profitable entities in the universe. The country can alarmingly be self-sufficient, but sadly it hangs on a thread of what I call diasporan funds and donations. Wall Street, Silicon Valley, Hollywood, The London Stock Exchange and even Tesla.  All of these entities are full of bright and talented Zimbabweans who would love to contribute to their homeland directly, but over the last 15 years, Zimbabwe has suffered insurmountable and overwhelming brain drain.

I received a call from her and she told me some sad news,

She told me people are tired,

She told me people are scared,

She told me people are rising,

She told me supposedly $15 Billion is missing,

She told me people are dying,

She told me the water is not clean,

She told me companies are closing,

2.2 Million jobs are missing,

She told me the fields are barren,

She told me her big brother Evan started talking about the flag,

She told me this is forsaken,

But now it has sparked a movement that is rather potent.

She told me there are factions,

She told me she can’t sleep at night,

She told me she can’t pay her child’s school fees,

She told me they are stepping on her mother’s blouse,

She told me the corruption got her anger aroused,

She told me she doesn’t want to live anymore,

She told me no one knows where the diamonds went,

She told me no one is accountable,

She told me her womb could no longer give birth,

She said someone is stepping on her stomach,

She told me there is blood on her blouse,

She is in pain and she is disdained,

She told me there is a brain drain,

She told me the situation is just insane.

All I could do was cry and pray with her, because I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t have the solutions, but could only hope that those in power could wake her up from her nightmare.”


The first two lines of this post refer to Juan Take’s opening remarks of his song Ice-Cream and an EP he’s lacing the final touches on – at least that’s what he says.  I’ve known this brother since I was ten years old.  In Borrowdale, I would chase him around in our Harare junior soccer league.  I was always trying to catch up, so I was later relegated to the bench of our Dragon Football XI in 2003.  King Kiri, the Sunday Mail business writer can attest.  He too was on the bench with me.  At least we’re now in the starting 11 of this writing  game.  If he’s Mo Salah, I am Sadio Mane. Go-bhora! translated Goal! in our native tongue Shona.

I didn’t realize Juan Take would become a businessman, but more importantly an artist offering reflections reminiscent of the best thinkers in the music industry.  When I listen to Juan Take, Fabolous, Nas, TehnDiamond, Common, MosDef, Talib Kweli, M.anifest, Burna Boy come to mind.  Homegrown, I‘m fond of his flow and effervescent political jabs delivered with ever-beaming hope, Afrocentric vibes and undeniable truth.  The heavily anticipated video is filmed by the Zimbabwean social-poltikker and Facebook Zimbabwe-resident-commentator Begotten Sun whose Tea Time Facebook series is African magic. “Salute”, he told me!  It’s coming soon.

The ice-cream of course refers to the alleged assassination attempt of Zimbabwe’s current President, Emmerson Dambudzo Mnangagwa (EDM).  The stories and rumours lit up social media groups and circles (particularly WhatsApp).  Apparently, a rival political faction attempted to poison him using ice cream.  They temporarily forgot that Zimbabwe is a myriad of provocateurs and securocrats.

Remember, Zimbabwe means House of Stone and it seems, so is our current President – EDM.  After the alleged assassination attempt, he left the country.  He wrote to us – the people.  He returned.  He became President.  This exasperating drama unfolded before our very own eyes and frankly that was my least productive period of the year.

EDM is our rock and we have a duty to lift him up.  Many don’t know he is an absolute survivor and I draw inspiration from his role in freeing my big sister – Zimbabwe.  Many don’t know that the Rhodesians wanted to hang him, but he survived that too.  Many don’t know that in 1965, Mnangagwa returned to Zimbabwe, and led the “Crocodile Gang” which was known for its use of knives and for its attacks in the country’s Eastern Highlands targeting white-owned farms.  He fought white minority rule, beat it down and I was later born in a free Zimbabwe because of comrades like him.  Before you bring up the mythical stories about him understand that politics is not pretty and neither are our lives.  As you point out twigs in peoples’ eyes, realize your vision is blurry.  You’re actually seeing through one eye.  A log however, is lodged in your other eye. Facts.


Photo by @MatthewBoka on Instagram

I wish EDM every success in Zimbabwe’s new dispensation – whatever that may mean to you as you read this.  I actually hopes he reads this post.  As one of Zimbabwe’s little brothers,  I am optimistic and that’s all I can say.  We are a promising people.  Don’t ever doubt it.

“The streets are dirty, but these ni**as looking quite clean.”

– @Juantake

Symptomatic of Zimbabwe’s meandering, pleasant and tough urban streets are glorious potholes and in some parts, decaying infrastructure.  The only exception is being ready to see a sexy red Ferrari, dozens of BMWs, Mercedes Benzes, Audis, thundering Hummers, and elegant Maserati’s – just to name a few.  It’s a melancholic injustice only balanced by the people’s patience and reprieve.  I’ve never known a people more peaceful than Zimbabweans.  We have a great deal of patience and I’d like to believe Ubuntu is what keeps the populace at peace.  I’m grateful to come from a lineage of resistant and hardworking people in the face of unfair or unpredictable conditions.  I just hope the streets no longer remain pot-holed and dirty.  It seems EDM’s rhetoric points to cleaning up these streets.  I have an eagle-eye on the moratorium ending February 28, 2018. If you’ve externalized funds, he’s cleaning up the streets.  He knows who you are, so come forward and let’s get to work.

I’ve read several tweets from Zimbabwean Twitter personalities including my favorite, @TrevorNcube, who reminds these externalizers and enemies of progress to be very afraid – very afraid.  The crocodile is hopefully cleaning up these streets and filling in some potholes.  I agree, let’s let bygones be bygones and let’s judge him from his first day.  That’s only fair.  Neither you nor I know the absolute circumstances that prevented his resurgence in ZANU PF Jongwe decades earlier.  Personally, I believe this new dispensation is a decade late, but we don’t take anything for granted.  We receive what we receive – for now.


A younger Emmerson Dambudzo Mnangagwa

“It’s the Sunday Church speaking weekend,

Heard the Pastors all speaking,

Prophet for profit,

The pockets they reaching,

Society’s commandments,

The Law – they preaching that,

Mr. Minister why you so sinister?

Trying to get your business up?

Via some tenders – Huh?”.

This sharp excerpt from Ice Cream speaks for itself.  I listened to the tune a dozen times and this second-last spiel above is my absolute favorite.  Some people in Africa look to pastors (with a small “p”) or ministers (with small “m”) for spiritual Guidance (with a big “G”).  Congregants fill community halls, buildings and classrooms beaming with endless hope, but the spiritual balance is often in disequilibrium with prophets seeking profit.  It takes a discerning mind to note this incredible exploitation of sheep seeking deliverance. Alas! Their pockets are filling and I’m not buying it.

I urge you to pick yourself up and halt looking to another human-being to dig you from your current circumstance or struggle.  You have what it takes.  Why are some of these ‘ministers’ so sinister?  I don’t know, but the truth always comes out.  Politics is hot these days.  I’m just frustrated that many tenders lack supervision, transparency and an admiration for governance or the basic rules of a controlled environment.  Juan Take tells it like it is so listen to him, because you might learn something.


Zimbabwe’s new dispensation.

Chinobhururuka chinomhara, is a Shona-Zimbabwean proverb Amai always tells me. If you’re wondering, Amai is my precious little mother.  Everything that flies, has to come back to land.  So these preachers and ministers may be flying high while we the lamb watch with a keen eye but one day, the plane has to run out of gas.  The Crocodile is lurking in the waters too.  He is calmly gliding, but above all, the Sun is watching.

“I mean the moral of the story,

They got two houses – two stories,

Secrets in the cabin, you can stack them -category,

Farms is territory, when you get the Inventory,

Nothing mandatory,

Getting raped – statutory.

Couple of signatories ……

– Juan Take

Maybe I should lobby to be a government-resident-rapper in Zimbabwe’s new dispensation – but it’s ok.  I’ll stick to writing. In conclusion, perhaps my big sister Zimbabwe is healing.  I think her confidence is returning and her ovaries ready.  It seems she is oozing with optimism. Perhaps now, she can now bear fruit and give us grandchildren! Peace.

While its not Juantake, why don’t you also enjoy Thomas Mapfumo’s song, Chinobhururuka Chinomhara and don’t hesitate to have a good day.

  • Follow Juan Take here:

–  @JuanTake on Twitter // @rockpaperzim on Instagram

  • Follow SonofGuruve here:

–  @adza__ on Twitter // @SonofGuruve on Instagram

SonofGuruve is a member of the Shona tribe from Zimbabwe, Africa.  He doesn’t own a television, but he likes to cook sadza nemuriwo while listening to Afro Beat and writing blogposts every now and again. He can be reached via our Contact Us page.

SonofGuruve © 2018