T’was on a Friday,

I’ll recall that Mayday.

Walking down the street,

Young men; jolly I meet.

I ask em’, “where you up to?”

They say, “don’t you know?”

I ask, “what?”

They answer, “It is a Ghetto Friday!”

It then hits me as never before!

How had I fogortten?!

It was aday to be happy,

Welcoming the weekend.

Singing round the shanties we called home.

Drinking the obvious;

Indigenous African brew!

Not caring anymore,

Of the raw sewerage;

Flowing through the slums.

The stinking smell,

A waste from the rich!

We only use flying toilets,

Or go into the bushes;

How then does sewages occur in our ghetto?

Ghetto life so sweet,

How is it that we are always so happy?!!