A bad penny always turns up..
I once believed, bad trees do not
Yield good apples, but I was wrong
When I saw men disturbing peace
Breaking black pipes, blowing up streets
Fetching from the National cake.
I saw “Malams”, apprehending men
Slitting sacrificial lambs,
Terrorizing the governments.
I saw folks, blending in dark bushes
Joining the gangs causing havoc;
The type that makes the Devil proud.
Funnily, those we call miscreants
Are to governments, faithful ants
To keep them hush, they grease their palms
Flying them out as amnesty
Coming back, they even contest
Dictating for governance.
But here we are as good people
Eating the scraps and leftovers
Of the miscreants who live large.
Good conscience may be good pillow
Certainly not in our headless
Societies, with so much unrest.