underneath the shade of the sungod

Mad skies threw bags and tithes

Tantrums and dice

Somebody shouts, Doctor! Doctor!

I am sick of capitalism!

The skies replied, suck it up son

The sun shied away,

Stuck up, shunned and shooed away

The ground bowed and said to someone

You are a child of Azania, just fart lies!

This is your world son

The truth flies, on express politics sticks

But here lies, our beloved

Son of the soil

Shutted up, Shot up, and Gutted up; the upshot?

We get it!