He dines on the uptown parts of the city,
has an assistant to push papers and never a faker,
No matter how ignorant or illiterate he is..
Africa calls him the leader; my people
call him the oppressor,
The gods use them,
They are an easy target, the peoples tax make them fat,
The average politician, I heard through the grapevine,
Has an ulcers, has a zit, has the normal flu and has cancer,
But we know,
He needs the vote,
he needs the extra allowance for a new goat,
The private chopper needs to be
serviced.
And his daughter got hitched with a drug lord,
please pull some strings,
I heard through the grapevine,
That he tore down our houses,
condemned those with HIV, exploited
the world bank in the name of orphans and scholarships,
destroyed our education system with speeches of reaching the poor,
That he took advantage of the inflation
and swindled us,
That he has a spot along Koinange
Street and Bessie is his sweet girl
My heart bleed, while I hang my head in shame,
When a poet would rather speak of
Mau Mau than the war we are fighting now,
Freedom fighters and war stories are but ghosts of the past,
Where Hip hop once known for its
relevance now embrace bare women
and PG rated code words,
I heard through the grape vine,
Of how average really meant
overwhelming,
Of how my politician equals explode,
Of how my people are robbed of hope.
°
