And here, in these brief lines,
The stories of our recent Kings
Who left our luckless nation
A legacy of scars and wails . . . .
I
Lamb of the Wolves
In civilian robes once there was
A figure who became King against his personal wish
All he dreamt was a humble seat in the Senate
But his handlers urged him to a loftier height
They said he was a simple man
Who started out life as a village teacher
A pious man who never missed a single prayer
He was often seen communing with angels
This was the lamb drafted for the helm
By a vulpine pack of party hacks
United by no higher purpose than ravenous greed
And fail-proof methods of nation-wrecking
They stole and stole and stole
Till the nation bled from their claws
Intoxicated by power so irresponsible
They boasted their rule would be for aye
Hunger wracked the nation
And Poverty undid her dreams
But a Party Chieftain declared with unimpeachable blindness:
“I have yet to see anyone feeding from the garbage dumps”
There goes the story
Of a vulpine pack led by a lamb
But the mask fell off their face one dreary dawn
When another “Fellow Nigerians”* assailed the air.
* The typical introductory greeting in the radio announcement of a military coup in Nigeria.
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