‘Slam’ ( an Immigrant Like Me)

Im an Australian. 
But that doesnt mean
That I dont love America
For what its made me 
In peace. 
I am everything you feared
Everything you hoped for 
Everything you second guessed
Thought of an immigrant
The kind you close your doors to
The type you wonder 
Whether they`d give you the money 
To live their lives
Or to hold up their vote
So that you`d get impeached.

Im no model citizen. 
But that doesnt mean
that I dont play fair
That I dont try to abide by the rules
I segue into societies 
Like a tattered shoelace into a new shoe 
And each time im pulled 
Like a yoke in either direction
One aspect of my Father`s culture 
Screams, “ Dont go there, you`ll get infected,” 
But my mother`s blood tells me 
“Go there , over here there`s only rejection,” 
And deep down within me 
I dont yearn to return because 
I know freedom like the credence
Of Youth where Im able to 
Begin the beguine within me 
Just be able to walk free; but you 
Youve never heard of that do you 
Maybe thats because 
Because Im just like You 
Speaking with the shade of your culture 
I dont shy away too
Youve never seen an immigrant like me
Because I dont paint myself Blue.

Yet an immigrant like me 
Exists in every shade 
Every way, but the similarity consists
Like a thread of a lifeline persists 
We come to your door 
not to take away your lives 
We come to your door 
To be a part of your lives, to assist
We dont have much money 
But we want so badly to exist; 
To eventually be a part of your culture 
To be in the freedoms, yes I admit 
Some of us mostly those with too much money
Might be the vultures, the kind
You wouldnt feed your dogs of war to 
Those yes, be afraid of throwing your culture
Because if you only open your doors 
To those who have money 
You seem to forget as to who helped create you.

When I say You 
I dont mean you, the voter
The standing in between 
Or the Gloater or the liberal choker 
Or the one on the fence waiting 
Waiting for something to intervene
I mean the Country and the world 
That we live in, 
You cant deny that every country 
Has been built post colonial 
On the bricks of people 
Who searched for something better
Than what their homes could give them;
The current rhythm we have 
In commercialism that we 
All can agree on, is the bucket
Of swill that capitalists mightve shat in
But not to brandish my bat 
Like I said, im no cat 
Ive definitely got no cream 
 Im a twenty four year old student 
Whose Mother was willing to sacrifice 
So much for my Dreams 
Both walking waking contradictions
Of their cultures, seemingly exiled 
From their means- 
She`s a teacher who has changed the lives 
Of countless students 
Im a musician student, we both walked 
Talking and making friends 
Thats how we survived and we loved 
The foreign soil that we meet. 
Yes, we left, because like me, 
She wanted another chance 
At attending to her own dreams.

But we got shut off. 
We got cut off 
“ Do you have Four million or more?” 
“Do you have more than one million,
To invest on our shores?” 
If it was so easy, I wouldve done so before 
Yet youve got two people 
A family, who`d been doing all the papers
Ticking all the boxes as legal as you do
And still you get turned away 
At the door because money speaks more
Than it should, so sometimes I wonder
Can you blame them running across the borders
Begging for shame begging for help 
When theyve sold all they could 
Well, what would? What would? 
The problem here isnt the people
Its not the angry flag wavers 
Or the young movers and shakers
Those without power or those
Who`ve got too much to think
That they could save us;
Its the price they place 
Like hoarders they grace 
Capital is the kind of king we dont want
Now, sit on that to brood
Perhaps then it wont be too late.