"This one here goes out to the struggle, and the tradition of the old poets" K'Naan
2009-10-27, 6:36 p.m.

So many in this country have forgotten how to struggle, what it means to work hard. So many have become weak of mind and heart, which gives way to this lack of confidence in ones own ability to live, survive. There's a certain connection to the old world when we can feel physical pain, and embrace it for what it is. There's a certain connection to old heart when we embrace non-physical pain for what it is, accept it.

I realized this when after I had finished and turned in my midterm today, I decided to take the day off, and just veg out at home, reading material for tomorrow's classes, listening to new music on my computer, laying out on my bean bag. It was glorious. It's almost 7 however, and I feel worthless. So in the tradition of 'roughin' it, I will be walking to get my groceries this evening. It's about a 30 min. walk, but really just need air. It's just so interesting to have these choices in front of me. The choice to read, read on my bean bag, drive to the grocery if I wanted . . . pay for my groceries. Just thinking.

K'Naan- Until the Lion Learns to Speak

Verse 1

Until the lion learns to speak
The tales of hunting will be weak
My poetry hales with in the streets
My poetry fails to be discrete
It travels across the earth and seas
From Eritrea to the West Indies
It knows no boundaries
No cheese
It studied in parts of Greece
(runtaa hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)
I am sick as far as lyrics
And with this far as gimmicks
I spit par age and limit
The shit they talk in rapid
I am hip the hop as living
I skip the obvious woman
Don't get what i am presenting
No rims my mind spinning
(runtaa hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)

Verse 2
I was born and raised in a place
where torn of flame would place
where the foreigners not embrace
where they warn you jog and pace
where loners low what they gaze
where the corners slow at a chase
where they tarts and turn in the maze
with the pistol upon your face
(runtaa hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)
so come with me to my longs
the death and deal we run
with passion see how I come
no cash I am free in the slums
The past can we overcome
I am asking we be the ones
To actually be the ones
To free our people from gun
(hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)

Verse 3

I was born and raised in a place
where torn of flame would place
where the foreigners not embrace
where they warn you jog and pace
where loners low what they gaze
where the corners slow at a chase
where they tarts and turn in the maze
with the pistol upon your face
(runtaa hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)
so come with me to my longs
the death and deal we run
with passion see how I come
no cash I am free in the slums
The past can we overcome
I am asking we be the ones
To free our people from gun
(hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey)

Verse 4

Until the lion learns to speak
The tales of hunting will be weak
My poetry hales with in the streets
My poetry fails to be discrete
It travels across the earth and seas
From Somalia to the West Indies
It knows no boundaries
No cheese
It studied in parts of Greece
(Hadii kale waxaan lahaa aheey)
Say I am sick as far as lyrics
And with this far as gimmicks
I spit par age and limit
The shit they talk in rapid
I am hip the hop as living
I skip the obvious woman
Don't get what i am presenting
No rims my mind spinning
(runtaa hadii kale waxaan lahaa aaheey