A Poem dedicated to someone called Zuma There was a crooked man And he had a crooked style And he a had a crooked walk And a crooked little smile And his eyes were independent Even though they seemed quite dead And he had a little shower Perched on his misshapen head And he had a merry gang Who would do all that he asked Even blocking our poor Thuli In the work she had been tasked Does it need a crooked man To run so many crooked scams? When it seems all of the ANC Are silent as the lambs Even though they are the first To point out other peoples’ faults They are running round and stuffing Lots of money into vaults They know the banks aren’t safe Because they plan to nationalise And to put their money in those Institutions won’t be wise So their money goes to Austria And Switzerland as well The toll roads are their pension While the country goes to hell They would rather rule a dungheap Than a pleasant happy land And the voters, oh the voters Put their heads deep in the sand They will make their mark as usual And then warn the ANC That they’d better fix things up Or there’ll be trouble, wait and see So after the elections There’ll be tyres all ablaze There’ll be rubber bullets flying And an almond smelling haze As the cops deploy the teargas And the people choke and cry And the rubber turns to metal And the people fall and die But you know it’s only five years Then they’ll get another turn And the ANC will feed them While the cities slowly burn So there was a crooked man The world was quiet as a mouse While he went and spent more millions On his crooked little house
Posted on: Mon, 17 Mar 2014 10:42:44 +0000