The other day, the ginea fouls woke me up,
So I grabbed my cap and sipped a cup,
Of mulondomix tea
, no malodrama..
Keeps the blood warm albeit it makes me pee,
So I carry some tee pee
I then watched Salif Keita,
The Malian legend,
Singing Tekele,
As girls both white and black,
Shook thier waists to the West,
Then to the East and South,
Again shaking Tekele, Tekele..!
Remembering the encounter at X-Hub,
The girls on the opposite table,
In long and short tight pants,
Others, revealing linen,
Made men pant,
In thier underpants,
Like ants
,
Beneath tight trousers,
On the softer confines,
Bite by bite..
Till you confess..
“ Give them Shivers or Amalula “
So they stop or keep kukyamula ..
That was Semakula..
They wriggled upon the fixated eyes
,
Ogling eyes of night dancers,
Each throwing thier behind, behind,
In a way that made several of us blind..
With Tim Tim almost berserk,
As he muted some attack..
If not heart attack
Men too begun to encrypt,
One by one, near to the unholy table,
The table of the terrible trio..
Like Lambada in Rio Digenero..
Or Kalypso in a club fiasco..
Every move, a hind shake,
As men, did a front quake,
Like an earthquake before you wake..
Or a milk shake as you partake..
Of Ugandans shaking thier things,
Like Kafiti the Village Wag..
