She doesn’t need to sing
Her two kids are good commodities
To be auditioned for pity comes money.
Did I say auditioned, I still see auctions.
On the golden bridges of Lagos
And by roadsides, fearlessly feeling at home.
An office of all for all
The democracy to beg
The Yoruba style of Bàrà.
I walked through Sabo N Geri
During the morning hours of schools
Where children chant uniform rhymes
So sweet than of project fame
Well organized they are in row
Talents begging to be known
Waiting for the leftovers in plates
‘Give me for God’s sake’ they sing.
They are so poorly rich, look at their cows
And also richly poor, look at their leaders.
Kleptomanism made easy
When organized blind people have a band
In the markets where tribesmen are found;
The Igbos are targeted, but all help them.
The deed is well done and perfect
Like birds flying in the gentle sky.
Not if they make a salary in hours
The begging song will never stop.
This film is just a thriller
What happens is more than beg
Some legs are kept as lame
But agile than those we see.
Yes, agile! To fold two legs all day
If stretched would make than expected.
Ask their blood, health, if good or poor.
We blame the government for all
But half from her and all from us
How can a fireless stove blame the pot?
When the pot should also be shameful of ricelessness.
How to get your daily bread, ask me not!
Although our land has been deflowered by rape
But it is still promisingly conceptive.
Let’s all go back to the farm,
The old land is still fertile.