Buy my bread,
Its so soft and red,
For I am a hawker,
With no locker of restriction at my feet.
If you find it hard at first bite,
Blame it on the wind,
For it curse it With chills,
Hence it stifles down your throat.
When I tell you my sachet water is cold,
Don't get cold when your tongue welcomes and its not.
Blessed be the sun, for its peril of warmth,
Believe me,it was cold.
That fetid smell of fish on my head,
Its really not my doing, though guilty.
Its of the two winged creature.
It wouldn't just go off with the wind,
The sun wouldn't burn either.
It hovers till finish on my fish,
And when you come,
I plea that You buy,
But you would rather die.
Believe me,when I hype my goods to buy,
I really don't intend selling you a lie..though a lie.
Its been the ways of the old,
Mr Change hasn't for once been useful in this part of life.
An unending trail,you may say...
Remember when you point that finger,
All others fall back.
Dare say there aren't no shades of black when you play.
Please Jail the blames,
And release the claims of my credit.