In a quagmire of misery the girl wallows.
Her feminism a bitter pill to swallow.
It’s a man’s world, so a man’s code she should follow,
Is a lie they tell her and if only the society would allow,
She would hold on to dear dignity.
She makes the millionth call,
The man on the other side treats her like a doll,
Asking her softly to play ball,
That she is a true African queen, dark and tall.
Knowing that he missed “talented” she lets the phone fall.
Groping in the dark, acutely aware of her tribulations,
She needs to make that buck,
Without having to turn her back,
On dear old dignity and all she considers right.
Through her dignity her star must shine bright.
She hums another song in her head.
Maybe she should sing about sex instead.
In this God forsaken society, dignity and morals are dead.
Why should she be the only one holding on to it,
When everyone else had long forgotten about it?
Many a time her faith is shaken.
Many a time, by an orgy of temptation she is almost taken.
A mega shortcut her beauty presents.
But beauty and sexy isn’t all she represents.
She was given dignity and self respect as presents.
Her fellow artistes, armed with beauty, angelic voices and loose morals,
Pop their legs open to success carriers,
Tempting her, from them this lesson to borrow,
Because now they worry not about tomorrow,
As their heavy pockets propel them forward like arrows.
She decides to be unshakably bold.
Her dignity shall not be shattered by a world so cold.
“Sex sells.” She is told.
But onto dear dignity she will steadfastly hold.
Until the message she carries is sold.
She sings out her story,
How for her feminism she has been made to feel sorry.
How she held on to dignity like something holy.
She needs not a short skirt to sell her story,
Just a hard coded confidence carried her to her glory.
Sex truly sells,
But it’s hard work that God bless.
It’s of dignity she will forever tell.
She never dropped it and she was great nonetheless,
A respectable woman whom no one treated any less.