Ikuomola caspian


The Corrupt

His hand always longing for the product of the masses
Never think about the welfare of the downtrodden
Wealth, appetite for notes to be splash
His time is near to be in the hand of the prison warden

The heart of man as strong as iron ore
His gown flowing as if the wedding bell is ringing
He never know whose horse is gore
He is always with a foist smile, but never know what he is bringing

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