Life of an underground lyrical beast looking great
But one can imagine attempting to get the sure rate
To succeed, one's got to really hustle
And, yes, Life is pregnant with some kind of bustle!
Striving makes us great
But, How'd I get there, mate?
Nonstop hustle is, I trust, the sure key
But, first for God, I've got to be on my knee
If not both!
......
In hunger's grasp, I hobble and strain,
Like crutches, my stomach in pain.
Wheelchair dreams, where food does reign.
Through the fridge I lurch and swoop,
Craving snacks like a ravenous troop.
Wheelchair spins, in fridge I stoop.
Cupboards bare, I shuffle and creep,
Crutches clatter, in corners I peep.
......
Do not rain on my parade, you stomach rumbling bunk!
Sit back, relax, and do your thinking in a trunk.
You're a pain, a real nuisance, a bother to face.
I'd rather not deal with you, but you won't give me space.
Stomach now rumbling, from frying pan to fire,
I'm here, no different from a deflated tyre.
My hunger's growling loud, my belly's in despair.
I need some food, and fast, to repair.
......
A cold season it was, in the early part of June,
Heaven's pattering pouring with a sound tune.
Deserted roads, streets devoid of life,
Many a man indoors with his wife.
Senors and senoritas indoors unclad unlucky folks in the hood feeling not glad.
Paucity ubiquitous, I wish I'd been prior to now told
Indeed the pattering has made all and all cold.
Presidential silence, Aso Rock's fall,
......
Rain on my parade
And you'll get Karma's raid,
Attempt thwarting my praise,
And be put below raise!
Be that jealous foe while I traverse,
And presently you'll meet that reverse!
In fair MGHS, where learning's light doth shine,
Edimenere, Favour Okpe, and Royal Charles, divine,
With dedication's fire, and hard work's design,
They reach new heights, and excellence entwine.
Favour Ibe, Hannah Miebaka, and Favour Ondo, too,
With Valtina, shine like beacons, in the morning's dew,
Their diction, English, and performances anew,
Earn top honours, and accolades, forever true.
......
Rain on my parade
And you'll get Karma's raid,
Attempt thwarting my praise,
And be put below raise!
Be that jealous foe while I traverse,
And presently you'll meet that reverse!
Do not rain on my parade, you stomach rumbling bunk!
Sit back, relax, and do your thinking in a trunk.
You're a pain, a real nuisance, a bother to face.
I'd rather not deal with you, but you won't give me space.
Stomach now rumbling, from frying pan to fire,
I'm here, no different from a deflated tyre.
My hunger's growling loud, my belly's in despair.
I need some food, and fast, to repair.
......
In hunger's grasp, I hobble and strain,
Like crutches, my stomach in pain.
Wheelchair dreams, where food does reign.
Through the fridge I lurch and swoop,
Craving snacks like a ravenous troop.
Wheelchair spins, in fridge I stoop.
Cupboards bare, I shuffle and creep,
Crutches clatter, in corners I peep.
......
A cold season it was, in the early part of June,
Heaven's pattering pouring with a sound tune.
Deserted roads, streets devoid of life,
Many a man indoors with his wife.
Senors and senoritas indoors unclad unlucky folks in the hood feeling not glad.
Paucity ubiquitous, I wish I'd been prior to now told
Indeed the pattering has made all and all cold.
Presidential silence, Aso Rock's fall,
......