This is how we survived
Our daily bread was not found on the bed,
We survived on the street, Hawking in the hold up
without commission for our hanging up.
Our fear for death is uncommented
because we believe the grave is certain,
And the certainty killed our motion
before the calling of the grief.
Lagos is not our father land,
But it holds us living under the bridge,
It breastfeeds us daily under our sweat brevity,
The sun has become friend to our skin,
We don't fade, we just remain gravity creativity.
We are not born with silver spoon,
And our mother is not the first lady of Nigeria
nor our father is proud to call us boys
cos we are already ourselves men.