That little lad is struggling to live,
His temperature is high above the sun at noon,
He has had diarrhea since last moon,
Today he labors to breathe,
With strength so much that he can gather,
he is wasted and his stomach is like a balloon,
because the sister came soon,
before he enjoyed the mother’s breast at noon,
he died shortly in the afternoon,
and the doctor said it is lack of harpoon,
that sent him so soon,
to the maker that afternoon,
poverty is a killer in Africa,
because our leaders are a goon,
they gobble our resources like baboon,
their stomachs enormously balloon.
and they call themselves tycoon,
but in real sense they are cartoon,
For that child that died that afternoon,
God rest your soul beyond the moon,
Our leaders are joining you soon,
Because Africa has swoon,
To get rid of them soon,
And have new ones with harpoon
And spoon
To feed you brothers at noon.
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