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36 TROPICAL JOLT If you think the winter sun so cold I’ll send you to Cameroon for a jolt Wherein our heads have us bribe to be slaves Against which their knaves keep us in the caves Sealed with the nation’s biggest bolt Freedom attempt draws thunderbolt From the salves saluting sheepish head For only sane minds must their blood shed To feed the ego of Narcissus in his mirror Oblivious to digging himself a burial furrow For when our summer sun sends the chill We see our head kill many with skill Knowing on the big ones he can lean For they care not our nation grew lean Upon emptying its fat to run their engines Even if this was by one man drunk on gin Cooking his brain dead to human sorrow Killing his thinking of a tomorrow Were this not enough to jolt you Then gas chambers give you no clue In which case misery makes no history As the promise to make poverty Growing in strength under such heads Who refuge find in northern sheds. ...

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