Gold Man

Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Old Man! Old Man! Old age is hell. Two big containers hanging both sides, That’s why we see your sexy rides. Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Bold Man! Bold Man! Your call with yell, Men, women, children all on the gates, Everyone is fighting on the rates! Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Fold Man! Fold Man! He is broken I tell! Having lost his son and his own left hand, With a bent of back he came to this land! Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Many things in containers, brings to sell, Besides bread and butter, cheese and eggs, For the children many more in the kegs! Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, He is a victim of terror I smell, For survivals of his family working hard, His poetry of peace has become a ballad! Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Gold Man! Gold Man! He is gold I tell! When I said, may God help you in life! I can help myself, with Him my strife! Aye sound of a ladies bicycle’s bell, Cold Man! Cold Man! Know you very well! Five times in the mosque I see your shows, How sincere and tearful are your bows!