A single crown calls for the bloodshed,
The tops claim, likewise the downs.
We hold the crown says the tops,
We own the kingship, replies the downs.
The monsters drinking palmwine in the skulls of the innocents with the sounds of a rifle.
Youngmen and women vehemently hold rifles at vantages to fire their preys to takeover the throne of the town.
At the 18 yard stand the villains lampooning with insinuations from the gates of their mouth because of a single kingship
Many are the impeccable whose blood run through the gullies of our homeland and conveyed in their caskets to the boneyard
The octogenarians, women and children moan and groan, running helter skelter like a blowed chaff from the grain to seek refuge because of the baleful sounds.
The noble city is tagged of no peace putting development beyond the reach of the arm and sweep business to the trash
oh! a great city of blessed cake
when shall our image be redeemed?
The hollows of my eye overflows with tears all because of the sounds of a rifle.
B