"On dis very day in downtown Dallas" - People's Poet Benjamin Zephyr Zodiac salutes fallen bruddah, JFK

There have been alarming rumours floating around the internet for several months now that Benjamin Zephyr Zodiac, the world's leading dub poet (some would argue that he is simply the world's leading poet, dub or otherwise) had renounced poetry altogether and had retired to an unspoilt Caribbean Island as a protest against  global warning, the ongoing invasion of Brixton by white middle-class professionals, and the steep decline in Barack Obama's personal approval ratings.

Fortunately for his legion of fans (said to include Pope Francis and the North Korean leader, Kim Jong-un) turns out the subversive old rhymester (after a "fashun"), having bagged his second Nobel Prize for Literature, just fancied some serious R&R - i.e. a year or so kicking back with a municipal bonfire's worth of Big Buddha Cheese ganja, a swimming pool's worth of Appleton Estate extra dark rum and a coachload of fine bitches with truly humungous... well, you get the drift.

But the Great Man was roused from his drug-induced torpor by the 50th anniversary of the assassination of JFK, an event which has always loomed large in Zodiac's consciousness as a symbol of... (well, he's not quite sure, really, but probably something to do with racism). Besides, his island kept being buzzed by Drug Enforcement Agency light aircraft, the dope ran out, and he discovered that he was overdrawn to the tune of £65,000 and Mr. Kitteridge at the NatWest was threatening to call in the heavy mob (i.e. Customer Relations Officer, Mrs. Deidre Prendergast). So he bade farewell to his luxuriously  appointed female friends, rolled a last spliff the size of a salami, drained the swimming pool dry, and set about producing this poignant, timeless masterpiece:

On dis very day in downtown Dallas,
So Bruddas I and I would say,
Was occurrin' a drive-by shooting brutal and callous
As de King him leave him palace
Fet to pass through de streets of racialistic malice
An' wave to de crowd along de way. 

Suddenly, me bruddas and sistas, a shot ring out
An' bust him right up in de head
Some gangstas wid a Uzi an' AK 49
Done gatted him up big time,
An' I n' I would say dis was a crime
Cos' befo' too long he was completely dead. 

An bruddas and sistas of all races and sexes
Was gwan to be sad fe dat day in Texas
Dat robbed we bruddas of hope across de nashun
Fe de Camelot Prince dat was gwan rid de world of discriminashun
By endin' de policy of segregashun
Which robbed us an' our ancestas of de chance of an educashun,
Instead of a fate of incarcerashun an' bein' put on probashun
Fe crimes we nevah dun, except on de odd occasion. 

An bruddas dis was surely de work of de CIA,
Dat rob us of de champion of we rights dat day
A fascism' conspiracy, quickly explain away
By de Warren Commishun, fe to whitewash was dem goal
An' dem tell us dere was no soldier gangstas firin' from da grassy knoll
Wid grenades and surface to air missiles dat took dere toll
On de President's head, an also him throat
An' tore a big hole in Guvnah Connally's coat. 

Instead, dem pin de blame on some weird skinny white dude call' Lee Harvey Oz
Which was convenien' for dis reason becoz
Anuvvah honky gangstah callin' himself Jack de Rube
Dun gatted de fall guy live on de Tube. 

Rat a tat tat, Rube put him on him back
Wid a bullet in de gut, de Oz was whacked
In a courtyard dat was packed
Wid Babylon an' hacks
An not one of dem attacked
De gat totin' Rube in his light coloured mac. 

50 year is gone, bruddas, since dat desperate day
An still de troof is just as far away
An de lyin meeja tell us dat JFK was a phoney
Dat have more bunga bunga dan Silvio Berlusconi
An have him trousahs more often off than on
But what me say bruddas is dat our hope was gone
Dat day in de place dem call Dealey Plaza
Dat took de life of de nation's father.

       Benjamin Zephyr Zodiac, November 2013

I'm sure we would all agree that the stature of this toweringly significant work - quite possibly the last word on one of the defining events of the 20th Century - would be diminshed by any form of reaction other than silent weeping.

Meanwhile, admirers will be delighted to learn that, as soon as BZZ has sold his small terraced house in Brixton for £1.7m to a 25-year old hedge fund manager, he intends producing a searing indictment of the role of financial institutions in the spread of global poverty. I, for one, cannot wait.