As Naira no longer wears ankara
But rather farts in all our faces
We must beat drums to ‘man pikin must chop’
Else by Friday, our mothers will remain at Mile 12.
When the gentle trader shouts ‘dollar ti won’
Do you still negotiate for food, curses or death?
When the bus conductor shuts his ears to your epistle
Will you hang your weight on his door?
Proud Nigerian, raise your ‘Proudly Nigerian’ flag
Let not recession silence the music in your streets
Let not your leaves wilt under this dryness
You are African – black, bold, made in Naija.