I was born on the right side of the tracks.
I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.
I was born without silver spoon in my mouth.
I attended school under Marula trees.
I didn't throw a sickie at Baranuka secondary.
That was my arrow in the quiver.
In the city of two summers,
The rain never rained.
But only few drop with deadly sun and wind.
Sometimes life is just a bowl of cherries.
During the seasons of Marula fruits and Mopani worms.
People kick up their heels.
And have a riot.
While they take off their hat to their cultures and religions.
