Rich land, Poor land

The Story Of my country:Nigeria Rich land, Poor land, He made them both, Yes He made them rich. But while men sleep Their leader, Put in power by their own thumbs, Transplants the olive trees Into his own garden,Home and abroad. He also drains the land Of its milk and honey, In his bellies He creates for them an ample place. While his own necks are weaven in fatty fleshy rings, Thumbs who pushed the power Wear the neck of a sickly strand of broom. He is not done yet, The next suffering formula is deregulation, Another ploy to further fatten his bulging bellies. Come back to your senses ‘baba no conscience ‘, Adakedajo, who made the land rich, Which you made poor Beckons to you with His long sceptre of repentance, This is your last night, By this time tomorrow ,He thunders in anger Hotter than baked iron, He says to me in confidence: " Louis the xvi ‘s fate shall be a child’s play, And Batista shall cry for you in painful pity"