Rebel Poetry in Burmese Rap

Rebel Saya San, illustration by Kenneth Wong

I stumbled on Burmese hip hop when a production company asked me to translate some rap lyrics for MTV's Rebel Music: Myanmar, an episode featuring musics by ACID, Y.A.K., and JAM IT, among others. I began watching the raw footage, fully expecting the twenty-something Burmese rappers to mimic their American counterparts. The swagger, bravado, and syncopated beats were certainly familiar. But the surprise was the Burmese lyrics.

The mega rap stars in the U.S. I've heard routinely sing of drug-fueled street life, violence, and sex, often celebrating them in a way that makes me cringe. By contrast, Y.A.K., the two-girl rap duo from Burma, was telling women that they "weren’t born to obey unjust orders," that they should "wipe away the notion of the weaker sex." Anegga, a founding member ACID, was commenting on the horrors of the military regime and the obligation he felt as a musician to speak out against it, even at considerable risk to his own personal safety. "We are the voices of the voiceless. We have to say something," he reasoned.

Hip hop in the west is no longer a counterculture, no longer a reaction against the dominance of the mainstream. It is now, as Forbes noted, an industry pumping out $10 billion per year, an "increasingly lucrative lifestyle." But in my homeland, in a country where, until a few years ago, musicians could go to jail (or suffer something far worse) for their song lyrics, the budding hip hop movement is still a marginalized subculture within the wider Burmese pop scene. As such, it echoes the underclass's pent-up anger, flaunts its jarring beats at the authorities, and mocks the quasi-civilian government's false pretenses. They are rebels with an earnest cause.

"To Burma (Myanmar)," a piece by G. Fatt, J. Fire, and Yin Wal Htet, is a catalog of the common people's grievances, an indictment of the reckless pursuit of profit that threatens the country's natural resources and cultural identity. The original Burmese is notable for its intricate rhyme schemes and some of the most expressive poetry, delivered with unapologetic directness.

To Burma (Myanmar)

Rap song lyrics

By G. Fatt , J. Fire, Yin Wal Htet

Translated from Burmese, read by Kenneth Wong

I’m the son of this country

And you are cronies, aren’t you?

Gotta say, I’m more Burmese than all of you.

You’d shore up the Irrawaddy in a dam—

The river our ethnic peoples depend on.

Hey boldface, would you let Kye See Hill crumble too?

How d’ya live with yourself?

We mistook a burglar for a son-in-law,

And ended up as Number Six

In the list of the world’s most down-and-out.

Whose fault is that, you’ll force me to say?

As long as you won’t stand with the people

The displaced will crouch around the bus stop

And stare at the Army’s land.

Eloquent like U Ponnya,

Forgive my stumbles here and there,

Precious stones are getting rare,

All I can say is my prayer,

Now how is that fair?

Sixty millions are sick at heart—except you, of course.

Apologies to Bogyoke, to every martyr,

I send my missive in a song,

Burmese pride is in my spirit,

If you touch us, sparks will fly—

It’s our tradition, you see.

Salute the flag, shout “Hurray!”

Sing a war song to banish the cronies.

No, we won’t stand for it!

My blood is that of Saya San.

Don’t follow the city slickers,

You’ll end up in a ditch outside.

Remember the clock tower, remember the Mandalay wall,

Look at ’em while they still stand.

Not sure about the Irrawaddy’s future,

The Shan Highlands could lose all their colors,

Take a selfie with Mandalay Hill,

Memorize the stone inscriptions,

Can’t promise they’ll be around.

Get Taung Thaman Lake’s autograph,

Pick up something at the Maha Muni, even if you have no extra cash.

The Great Kyaung, Thu Dhamma Pavilion, the Art Academy—

Might have to swear that once they were there, to those born afterward.

Watch ’em, watch ’em straight, watch ’em strict—

They’re gnawing away everything, li’l by li’l.

Not much of you is left, you see?

Not the time to sigh over the broken wheels on the wretched streets,

Come, come, let’s have some small talk while we can.

When this verse is over, I’ll be speaking with an accent.

Listen to every last word from my heart,

Gotta hit ’em with a sack of cash to run them out of town,

They’re worse than the pariah dogs that feed on the leftovers

Before the monks have had their fill.

Do something!

Our people surrounded the city, pitched a tent.

“I’m so cold. Won’t you let me in?” said the camel outside.

We gave into our kindness—“Come in!”

Then the camel said, “My butt is freezing. Can I bring my body in too?”

Our tent is now in a shamble.

It’s education for the newly arrived.

Understand this! The guests are livin’ on Main Street,

The hope to do well is millions of billions of worlds away,

We are housemaids, servants, no peace for us, not yet,

Don’t put up red letters. May the city be fresh and green!

Money holds the purse string,

The little homes outside the city are wibbly-wobbly,

Downtown rents keep our people away,

Yet the school kids keep on singing,

“This is our country, this is our land;

The land belongs to you and me.” 

Notes:

U Ponnya is a courtier and a poet from the 1800s, known for his quick wit and eloquence. 

Bogyoke (General) is a reference to General Aung San, Aung San Suu Kyi's father.

Saya San led a failed farmers' uprising against the British colonial rule. After the revolt was crushed in 1931, he was captured and executed. 

The last lines ('This is our country, this is our land; the land belongs to you and me.") are excerpts from the Burmese national anthem. In government-run schools, students usually begin the day by standing up and singing the national anthem in unison.

The original Burmese version is in the YouTube clip below: