The Preacher's Son

I am the preacher’s son and am here to blow the horn,
into this world I was born so to make it under the sun.
I was raised through my Mama’s cane so I can have a moral brain,
I was taught to read and write so I can know my wrong from right,
I was given the mother care so I can know how to love and share.
I was never pampered but always in the kitchen with her to prepare.
I am the chosen one so I take care of my younger ones.
I am the preacher’s son but sometimes they call me the teacher’s boy.

I am the preacher’s son and am here to propagate the gospel,
my father thought me through the epistles but am here to write my Chronicles.
 People refer to me as a bad boy but isn’t that ironical,
they judge me with what they see & not even being cynical.
Though I hang out with rude boys that see life as a game of toy
cus that’s what give’s them joy but mine is a different ploy,cus am just catching my fun.
We drink we party & do a lot of night crawl, we gist, laugh & take it to the brawl.
i was involved in everything but never addicted to anything.
But often I heard the voice of my Dad saying:
"My son if sinners entice thee consent thou not,
Remember a good name is rather to be chosen than silver and gold."
I'm the preacher’s son a bad boy with conscience, I never do it all am just entertaining my audience.

I am a preacher’s son and I love singing love song,
to the entire beautiful girls in the house especially the ones that play along.
I have an eye for good things that’s why I keep it real and do the strong thing,
I preach the gospel that goes according to St. John, 

I'm fresh & clean ladies love me when I put on sean john,
they feel me like teaser, they always want to eat me up like pizza,
I'm the preacher’s son so I give it to them like hot suya.
But mostly I hear my Mama’s voice saying;
"My son, the son of my womb, the son of my vows, give not thy strength unto women, nor thy ways to that which destroyeth kings". Remember you are the preacher’s son, you are a Kingship material.

I am the preacher’s son my father taught me to shielt my sword,
to live in peace with all and never to shed their blood.
Even at war he told me rather to use the word which is a stronger weapon and sharper than any two edged sword.

He taught me to kneel and pray in times of despair, 

and every time I call my life he repairs,
he guide me through in my several travail, he makes me win and makes me prevail.

Truly I'm a preacher’s son and my mother is a deaconess,
I'm the first born so they made me the leader of the youth witness.
Then I was young and vibrant I never had the heart of a tyrant,
I was once a drummer boy in my local church, I play also the keyboard and sing our local songs.
I was once the Drama cord in my school fellowship though I rarely acted but I always held on to the clapper board.
I have a church mind and i hope you don't mind
I'm the vessel in his hand the project in his palm.

So to all my friends this note I write, for you to really know me and judge me aright.
Be careful how you read me or else you misread me,

I'm not the bad boy you are thinking even though I hang out with the gangs, pimp & king pin, 

I'm not that tough boy you see even though my face look so hard & keen,
I'm just quiet and gentle, reserved and simple, I pursue through my dream in life without a wrinkle.
I am never the son of the soil but the son anointed with oil.
I am the preacher’s son; my name is Fatoyinbo Abayomi Oluwadamilola Bishop
this is my chronicle, I will never go out of the preacher's voice.

ON MY PERIOD……

I woke up this morning feeling so heavy

Like a warship coming with a thousand navy

I heard the sound of a flying black raven

I felt the sunlight shinning on me from heaven.

I watched the wall clock tick

My eyes so fix, I don’t want to blink.

I stood to realize am so weak

My feet can’t move my mouth won’t speak.

I knew it deep inside that am not sick

I felt a rush over me like a freak

I smiled as I held on to my fist

It’s again that period of the week.

I’m on my period, am not ashamed to speak

Even though it rains with a red beat

And it drains like a lemon squeezed

It comes from me naturally

And end up in me emotionally.

Like a red wine so sweet to savor

So my period comes with good flavor

It’s the best time I have to myself

It’s the time I make use of the books on my shelf

It’s the time my muse comes to help

And my eyes always turn to red.

It’s the time to show my prowess

The time to use my pad.

All I need is a pad and a pen

It’s another period to write a poem.

A period to talk about the blood

The blood that rush and gush

The blood that gush to wash

No one could have loved me this much.

A wondrous beauty I see

What a wonderful world it would be.

Stained with blood so divine

Was an old cross that took the sin of mine

An emblem of sin and shame

For me the Lamb of God bear it all on Calvary aim

To bring me back to glory

My shame & reproach he gladly bears

He suffered and died, not just a story

He resurrected for me to be there.

So will I cherish & cling to the cross on my kneels down

Knowing I will exchange it someday for a glorious crown.

That I may know him & the power of his resurrection

And the fellowship of his suffering

Being made conformable unto his death.

Cos without the cross, there is no blood

Without the blood, there will be no death

Without death, there will be no resurrection

Without resurrection there will be no me

And without me, there will be no such period.

A period to use my pad,

A period to use my pen,

A period to write a poem.

© Yommy Bishop……….