The Funky Train 2

The nation is very rich indeed But, Wounded out of loss direction; Wounded out of lack of ambition, Weeping out of lack of impulse; Wounded out of lack of imagination, Ingeniously exhumed out of the citadel of corruption; While the funereal ultimately boils down to collateral. In the funky train, All the hoo-ha-noisy end in fisticuff; And the crumpled greenback hand-out cough, The law has nothing to handcuff, Kindred turned puppets loss of self-worth in defacto state of war, Faced with hemorrhaging despondency; And splitting migraine disillusionment, Miseenscene always greeted with fire and blood, With fight and struggle half dead; To trip in goats, straw and timber carrier, Inevitable suicide spoof of teeming commuters, And a caterwauling exodus end in thousands of legs under the sea, Carnival of Sharks tongue-smacked and praise-devour the abundant feast; While the aura of authority has little or nothing fish, Often, sudden delight death cry of assailed victims, Owa! Owa! Owa! {Alight} A cry for shanty shambles bus stop, As if deaf, the tyrant conductor Lashes out in blinding curse and abuse; Pressing and shoving for umpteenth fares, Owa! Owa! Owa! A plead for just a measure of tonic air, Hard kerchief to wipe off addicted Face of invincible gossamer, Diabolical gene galloping in strides; As compassion flees from rigours of heart of stone, If swearing non-syllabic stunned altercating joust; Could result in re-ordering of the lost world, Plotless plastic lives of mean children of absentee Mamas and Papas, Would gauche braggadocio even king to brutal submission; O! wretched loud louts touts, Very loud louts touts foaming with tactless forming; A riposte, may your road be rough, A stamp on every man destiny.