Little Man

Little man little problem Confined in the box Pleasure at his leisure Quelling insatiable hunger Gust of distrust Intrusion of endless chatter Never a dull moment Yet the land is bad The land is bad indeed Day and night on wobbling legs The hands stocked in pants Lazily he slouches to bed The day like a continuous train Raining misery in cool temper A trainer he stands to be Prophesying the doom to come What a mystery Of what use was the boom To his father without a certificate The oil money is here My children’s children would laugh In absence of toil In absence of work Even Freetown would never Give anything for free There’s a price to pay A challenge to conquer Walking through the vile down the aisle The sandpaper leaves you smooth and polished Back to your dream Absolute freedom polished Unlike the little man’s.