First of all, I don’t envy you as much
As to wish I’d resemble your youth;
The sun-flower seed doesn’t grow into a baobab tree.
The rantings about your skin and nails
Are all but consolations to your decaying soul.
How lowly worth am I to dwell on lifelessness?
Look at me and you; can’t you see our difference?
Or should we array ourselves before Papa?
Obviously he’ll choose me over you a million times.
The argument of whether I can cook or not
Shouldn’t be a bother to you,
What worries ail you:
On what He chooses to eat now?
Have you seen him spit the chips out,
Or heard him complain of the salt and sugar?
How else would he beg for more,
If not that he liked it?
Don’t you know I can have maids,
To treat me and my man nicely?
For what reason should I break my back
When by a snap food can be ready,
Papa’s pipe polished, and mine nails cleaned?
You speak of child bearing so profoundly,
Well that was you, his child machinery.
Who would want to bear that labor now?
Then be suckled dry to the bone?
To frail and wilt like the example you are?
Again the economy is bad,
I can’t afford a child.
Just excuse me old woman;
Am here just to enjoy my part.
You say I should’ve crawled into your bossom;
To learn ways on how to keep your man;
He got bored of your old self,
What new ways of pleasure do you possess?
It’s you who should come to me for vaseline,
And body cream to smoothen your wrinkles,
And perfume to tantalize him against the smoke and manure. Chokee!
So that you know as it is,
It’s up to me to keep my man as I wish.