Why Should I Pay for a Business Permit?
You stopped by one evening,
Shaking hands, nodding along,
Dear Governor,
You found me at Nduma Street,
Struggling to make ends meet,
Right on muddy Ndoro Road,
That’s where my shop stands,
Where my family barely scrapes by.
I know you won’t be coming back,
But your enforcers will—
To shake me down for that business permit.
Tell me, Governor—why should I pay?
Don’t give me the same tired line:
“It’s for the services we provide.”
Services? Where?
I’ve been told that story too many times,
And all I see is decay.
I run my business in the dark,
On streets that flood with mud,
Walking through piles of trash every day.
So, why should I pay?
And another thing—
Stop calling me your “resident,”
Just because my shop is stuck in your county.
I’m not your resident.
I’m your cash cow.
The one who funds your endless demands,
But am I given any relief?
When you send your collectors,
Give them something for the cow,
Because next season, Governor,
This cow might not be standing.
Dear Governor,
I know you're in your comfy office,
But let’s cut the pleasantries—
You’ve been to my shop before,
Though I’m sure you’ve long forgotten.
I know you're in your comfy office,
But let’s cut the pleasantries—
You’ve been to my shop before,
Though I’m sure you’ve long forgotten.
You stopped by one evening,
Shaking hands, nodding along,
Calling me: My guy,
Too busy searching votes.
Dear Governor,
Your campaign trail led you past me—
Do you even recall the street?
You cruised in your Land cruiser,
But you didn’t see the potholes under your feet.
Too busy searching votes.
Dear Governor,
Your campaign trail led you past me—
Do you even recall the street?
You cruised in your Land cruiser,
But you didn’t see the potholes under your feet.
Dear Governor,
You found me at Nduma Street,
Struggling to make ends meet,
Right on muddy Ndoro Road,
That’s where my shop stands,
Where my family barely scrapes by.
I know you won’t be coming back,
But your enforcers will—
To shake me down for that business permit.
Tell me, Governor—why should I pay?
Don’t give me the same tired line:
“It’s for the services we provide.”
Services? Where?
I’ve been told that story too many times,
And all I see is decay.
I run my business in the dark,
On streets that flood with mud,
Walking through piles of trash every day.
So, why should I pay?
And another thing—
Stop calling me your “resident,”
Just because my shop is stuck in your county.
I’m not your resident.
I’m your cash cow.
The one who funds your endless demands,
But am I given any relief?
When you send your collectors,
Give them something for the cow,
Because next season, Governor,
This cow might not be standing.
