Bank Of America

Welcome o, welcome o. Eyes moving like searchlight in maximum security.

Scanning their hands and luggage, x-raying their vicinity.

I always heard wealthy people get the bank come to them.

I never knew I could be broke and get the bank walk up to me.

They are humans, I know. My uncles, I know,
But to me they are just ATMs, walking and sharing ego.

They got family I know, responsibilities I know.
But to me, they work just to satisfy my needs.

If they don’t, then I’ll be angry and say they are very stingy.

Who cares about their needs, they must take care of me.

Because they live overseas, and it’s filled with money trees.

And their life is so easy and it’s their obligation to me.

After all I’m their nephew and our blood is really thick.

Thicker than water and crude from the creek.

So they have to settle me well like it’s crude oil money.

Pay for all my debt and buy me the latest jeans.

Plus I got that business I need money to invest in.

And my wife just birthed our eleventh twins.

And I got that contribution I have to pay in the church.

So they have to pay it, what else is family for?

Abi no be me go welcome them from the airport?

No be me call them when I hear news say there’s a snowstorm?

I even help to clear their land in the village.

So which excuse do they have not to settle me well?

If you like say I’m taking advantage of them.

Better their blood than a stranger from somewhere else.

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