Status quo

Come to compone the cheaply trend of fine fiat to spree
Alongside the skyrocketed tags done on goods we
find it dearly disheartening at the mo
to own one kobo to buy one man's woman's mango
Town is dry and the city cannot hold
Foods are scarce and the few friendly are sickly cold
Water with our grounds when called are scared to show
and the worth of the rainfalls cannot cure this heat's flow

The governors are good; they are the processed devil
They are the white clouds holding rainstorms of weevil
They are the tall rich and pompous giants
Deriving delight as fats feeding on us ants
As tall as they are they poke the heaven loose
Set the rules for the weevils to come in and cruise
Feed on our stone-filled rice and chaff-riddened beans
To hide their big heads and fat families in their haven
Gloat us breaking frosh bread from their imported oven
And their children, children's children, friends and thugs
Take our sufferings as sport, betting on us like rugs

Revolution must come not from us but from above
Revolution must come not from above but from us
Each hand must work hard and forget the federalism that is not democratic
Each head must reason and think hard for sufficiency by being authentic
Lazy dry bones must rise and walk and work and watch
All these ladies on street's sides selling their sweet pies
must repair their zip and take up the mantle of warrior
No government cares because they said they care
As nature will always demand we eat and drink to live

Money buys food
Foods fetch money
Workers plant food
Foods are sold for money
Not working hard now and smart
Thrusts slowly, a spear to the heart.

©Jᴏᴅᴇᴋss