Before the coup
He was always right
In his gun-point might.
When he shouted like thunder,
We, in slum-huts, had to chunder
In fear of venomous grenades and
bullets.
But today he is without amullets,
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
Bozize was the hard rock
And could carelessly mock
Us behind dark-glassed limousines
When escorted to cut-throat French
cuisines.
Limousines in long, long queues
No longer parade him in this curfew
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
He made countless flights
Leaving us without lights.
He owned and ruled the state,
And we were the state.
An earlier coup gave him this
mission,
But now he cannot even rule a
subdivision
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
Bozize was king of elephants
Trampling us like road-ants
While impregnating his wallets.
He pitilessly used us like mallets,
But today he has lost the game
And has crumbled till we‘re all the
same
After the bloody coup.
(Mbankolo, 27 March 2013)
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