A man of repute
hasn’t one,
But two sheathed stones
But two sheathed stones
And nine birds in the bush
His household spans across
Lengths and breadths of villages
Fruits of his chauvinist loins
Mark whole generations passed
And “he,’ like old Solomon,
Dines from a thousand bowls
Daughters of the land,
Adorn thyself, therefore
And dance to the tune
Of this insatiable ingrate
His thirst shall be quenched
By a thousand guards of milk
And you shall oblige his desires
Unreservedly, lest you offend
Against the oracle of our land
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