God's given us man's ruination-
His wretchedness, his pain, and grief
In Africans- because starvation,
Up to a point, makes sweeter beef.
But while we vacillaate and dither
These Africans will dry and wither;
And when they are mere skin and bones
There only use is as flagstones.
Now while this might add some excitement
To driveways or a garden path,
Think of its awful aftermath:
The courts might bring in an indictment,
At least for moral turpitude,
And you'd be stuck with prison food.
No. Better, better, so much better
To eat a starving baby young.
Some single mother who's a debtor
And will be sold or might be hung;
And knows her baby is redundant
Would welcome cash that is abundantt
Enough, at least, to get her fixed.
And when her baby's been deep-sixed,
You'll take another contract on her.
For with no jobs she'll go in debt
Which you pay off. She's beef brochette.
For courts in Africa will honor
Your contract ( with some petty cash );
And then she's yours to her last eyelash.
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