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Elder Lister
FDC's Dr. Stella Nyanzi begs Museveni for sex in her recent love poem dubbed A POEM OF LOVE FOR SON OF KAGUTA
Let’s make love, Son of Kaguta, not rape!
Take off your K95 facial mask; I was tested two nights ago for Corona at your exclusive expensive laboratories.
Kiss me tenderly with your lying lips dripping fast with empty promises that impress the gullible.
Blow between my big breasts your warm breath that smells as foul as the choking tear gas unleashed freely upon enthusiastic opposition actors.
Aaaaaayyyyiiiiii, Son of Kaguta, your bed of lovemaking is as cosy as a bloody battlefield.
Gently massage me with clean bank notes plundered out of money to fight COVID19.
I am tired of old bank notes stolen from older vaccines, valley dams and other what-what-nots.
Finger me with your chubby digits that press computer keys unlocking Israeli algorithms for rigging the coming presidential election.
Turn me on with gruesome stories of your torture chambers pseudonymed “safe houses” in which detained Ugandans rot away.
Mmmmm, rub me softly with gun butts, batons, kibokos, bayonets, grenades and AK47s.
Penetrate me with your military might and ravage me just like you torment Uganda.
Brutalise me as harshly as your SFC brutes brutalised the Parliament of Uganda.
Break me just like you broke the bodies of Betty Nambooze and Francis Zaake, oh Son of Kaguta.
Instead of shooting to kill innocent citizens,
Give me babies with your octogenarian semen.
Oh yes, my big Daddy-Jajja, secure my future
With huge holes torn into the constitution.
Aaaaaaaaah, there’s no other love like your love, oh mighty Son of Kaguta!
Wipe the kisses off my pouting lips with your underwear made from the national flag drenched in blood - fresh and old.
Open your stuffy bedroom to let out the scent of rotting corpses of rioters shot with bullets as they repeatedly chanted “People Power!”
That scent of traumatised Uganda mixes badly with smells of our sex, oh Son of Kaguta.
Selah!
Let’s make love, Son of Kaguta, not rape!
Take off your K95 facial mask; I was tested two nights ago for Corona at your exclusive expensive laboratories.
Kiss me tenderly with your lying lips dripping fast with empty promises that impress the gullible.
Blow between my big breasts your warm breath that smells as foul as the choking tear gas unleashed freely upon enthusiastic opposition actors.
Aaaaaayyyyiiiiii, Son of Kaguta, your bed of lovemaking is as cosy as a bloody battlefield.
Gently massage me with clean bank notes plundered out of money to fight COVID19.
I am tired of old bank notes stolen from older vaccines, valley dams and other what-what-nots.
Finger me with your chubby digits that press computer keys unlocking Israeli algorithms for rigging the coming presidential election.
Turn me on with gruesome stories of your torture chambers pseudonymed “safe houses” in which detained Ugandans rot away.
Mmmmm, rub me softly with gun butts, batons, kibokos, bayonets, grenades and AK47s.
Penetrate me with your military might and ravage me just like you torment Uganda.
Brutalise me as harshly as your SFC brutes brutalised the Parliament of Uganda.
Break me just like you broke the bodies of Betty Nambooze and Francis Zaake, oh Son of Kaguta.
Instead of shooting to kill innocent citizens,
Give me babies with your octogenarian semen.
Oh yes, my big Daddy-Jajja, secure my future
With huge holes torn into the constitution.
Aaaaaaaaah, there’s no other love like your love, oh mighty Son of Kaguta!
Wipe the kisses off my pouting lips with your underwear made from the national flag drenched in blood - fresh and old.
Open your stuffy bedroom to let out the scent of rotting corpses of rioters shot with bullets as they repeatedly chanted “People Power!”
That scent of traumatised Uganda mixes badly with smells of our sex, oh Son of Kaguta.
Selah!
