Rich and Powerful

A pistol under the pillow, I’m not dying tonight,

Don’t touch the door, alarm on the knob,

Guards everywhere, the window glass bulletproof and a strong grill on the outside,

Life in a cell, that house is a maximum security prison,

Police post just around the corner, fast cars and a chopper on standby just in case,

Pilot dozing off in the cockpit, on shift,

Don’t want that life, if that’s what it means to be rich and powerful,

Let me die poor, living in the village in a grass-thatched hut like a tourist at the coast,

Let it leak in the rain season, let me contact malaria from mosquito bites,

Let me go about my business in tattered clothes, my manhood dangling from the underside,

As I’m bend down in my little piece of land, tilling and tendering to crops with love and care,

Perhaps some cassavas or sweet potatoes, or sorghum and millet like the ones mama grew,

During the holidays with our dog, spend all evenings chasing away birds and monkeys,

I’ll choose that life again and again, if it means avoiding the pain of being rich and having so much power.

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