Oh land of green and golden pride,

Where rivers flow and dreams have died,

Your soil is rich, your skies are wide—

Yet justice runs, with nowhere to hide.

They built their thrones on stolen sand,

With promises cupped in crooked hands.

They speak of peace with sharpened lies,

While truth beneath their silence dies.

The youth cry out with heavy hearts,

Their voices hushed before they start.

Jobs are ghosts, and schools decay,

Hope is taxed, and dreams betray.

The oil spills, the power fails,

The masses walk forgotten trails.

They sell the votes for bags of rice,

Then curse the gods for rolling dice.

The leaders feast, the children fade,

Their empty plates a price unpaid.

Hospitals rot with rust and flies,

While private jets escape the skies.

O Nigeria, mother caged,

Your people burn, your soul enraged.

But in the dark, a spark still glows—

A younger wind that softly blows.

For every thief that digs a pit,

A patriot rises, bit by bit.

The chains may tighten, truth may bend,

But justice finds its way—its end.