‘Just the place for a racist!’ our President cried,
As looked at the DA with care;
Supported by kissers of bums on his side
And a finger stuck up in the air.
‘Just the place for a racist! I have said it twice:
That alone is enough to be true.
When I look at those t-shirts, all blue and not nice:
Only black, green and yellow will do.’
The crew was complete: they were true to their roots
They were brokers of tenders, and hoods
A businessman come to dispel their disputes
To placate them and value their goods.
A President here with an ego immense,
Who most surely had more than his share
In a house that was built at enormous expense,
And his many wives all in his care.
There was also a country, now surely a wreck,
Only fit for the likes of a sow:
And when Thuli attempted to keep them in check,
She was labelled a traitorous cow.
Here was one who was famed for the number of things
He forgot when attempting a speech:
And the MPs were roused from their long slumberings,
When his stumbling efforts did reach.
To the ANC benches, all carefully packed,
With faithfully loyal who each
Stamped their feet and made certain the odds were all stacked,
In their favour and clapped for the speech .
The loss of his dignity was but a small price
To pay for the chance to be boss,
And the lies were so blatant, that all of his vice
Was considered to be a small loss.
He would answer to ‘Hau wena!’ or to any loud cry,
Such as ‘Bring my machine-gun right now!’
To all who would question his duty to lie
To defend himself any old how
While he had Rat McCrawley confirming his word,
That they would rule till Jesus came:
The voters believed him and swore that they heard
The ancestors say much of the same
His form is ungainly—his intellect small—
But he is who the voters elected
And they are the ones, be they long, short or tall
Who are breaking down what was erected
He would joke with the people and dance like a goon
And pretend that the boos were not there
And he gambolled and danced like a hairless baboon
And then in all earnest declare
That the ANC would create six million jobs
And corruption was out, on its way
The police had MacBride-cake—at which there were sobs,
For the crooks had a new boss that day.
So remember Nkandla, remember the dead
Who were killed cause their taps had run dry
And remember the promises all made ahead
Of the last election and then ask why.
He should change what has worked for him up to this point,
When the laws could be changed at a whim,
When the press could be silenced, and put out of joint
And would have to go out on a limb
To speak of the truth and expose all the lies,
And to show that it all is a shame;
And that all of the President’s halting replies,
Are repeats and incredibly lame
So you now have your chance to affect what you want,
When you enter that booth on that day,
You alone have the ‘X’ and let none say you can’t
Vote, cause you alone have the last say
If you vote for the black, green and yellow again
You will cry and lament and then scream
But here is the chance, when you pick up your pen
To remove them and realise your dream