Series of warfare and imperialistic scare
Never stopped him from shooting up to the cockpit
Neither did the turbulence and mist
Withdraw him from penetrating
The white-looking black raped virgin
Of immense riches and sweetness
Labored and not favoured to tow
The repentant hoe as a whole
To the fore of freedom
Freedom to institute the defunct kingdom of black origin
Aboriginal rights blurred the vision
Of the bright looking prodigy of the day
The quest for insight from the gem of posterity
Infected the greedy with the cancer of cynicism
Imperial cynicism turning malignant
Turning cronies into foes
Tactical cowardice drives him from grace to grace
Yes, grace!
They say: bricks and stones may break my bones
But words alone would break your soul!
Wisdom of emancipation from mental slavery
And from imperialism is what you bestow on us
Be black and proud.
Osagyefo….y3 da’ase


On a journey from town to town
Trying to avoid but bound to meet this tower of power
Deeply-rooted in the middle of sizzling quakes
Yet standing solo even with Apollo
Hour-glass shaped, toppling far-fetched coca-cola bottle
Swinging yet arousing the dingo of mingling gigolos
Threading gently yet denting the prowess of a Bentley
Melody, an understatement for thee
Ye fair lady of suspense in the dispense
Of inert quartet with intent
Black and never looking back
At the stack of defunct adverse misery
Knock-knock at any hot cock
For an opening is closing on this tower of power
Come harder or Tata