Government Pikin

Gayly he brisk-walks Be it the scorching burning sun Or the vexing pouring rain. A juggernaut in his little twisted mind His mobile ghana must go home Hanging jokingly on his shoulder Oblivious to the world around him Smiling daintily or muttering foolishlym Exposing days or even weeks of unwashed teeth The ones who think they're alright Stand aloof and judge with their senses Omo ijoba they call him. Chase him away from their stalls When he comes to beg for pure water. Hide their children from him When he makes funny faces at them But they never do realize that We're all government pikins In our own twisted little minds.