Sunday, 22 January 2017


I saw your crush, the one named Lydia
She looked emaciated beyond Libya
There was no gleam in her eyes
The kind that lit up your thousand skies

She was with a pot bellied guy
A rich man at that, brand bags don’t lie
Mr. Price on the right, Chicken Inn on the left
Ah! How you were royally financially bereft!!

The thighs and ass that we obsessed over
It’s gone man, like it was overran by a land rover
In its place seemed to be patches of meat
Wobbly and, disgustingly, indiscrete

She doesn’t look anything like the video vixen
That graced your favorite song, Seventh Heaven
She walks like a ball of human flesh
It’s blasphemy to walk to her and say ‘Sasa mresh?’

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