He lifted his hand up and i saw the G
He spoke, then left after igniting the O
He rolled down downtown his mind on the D
Gold, Oil Drugs his god
In prayer he left the crowd
Gave them the last words - pray to god
Color and cadre aren't inscriptions on creed
But on guns or diamonds
A consignment arrived last week
Next week he speaks again to the weak
Cracking the whip to drink the weep
Of the them who mine the gold, the oil and do the drugs
So volatile they get but ground low the stay
Dew wet swaying in gale of greed
Keeping on their knees hoping for change
Not in creed but cadre, not in color but greed
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