We work with Mburu, side by side,
Paid 19k, no perks to provide,
No allowances, no extras to spare,
Yet we plan with care, give what we can bear.
We shop for our homes, send kids to learn,
In private schools, where futures turn,
We buy clothes, feed dreams, take pride in our stand,
Giving the best with what’s in hand.
But Mburu? He thinks his money's too thin,
Neglects his young family, lets trouble begin.
His children shuffle through the worst public school,
While his wardrobe remains empty, as if it's the rule.
He laughs at us, calls us henpecked men,
But his choices unravel again and again.
Come the 3rd, payday’s sweet thrill,
Mburu’s untouchable, chasing every thrill.
He’s in every club, every barstool's his seat,
With every girl, every drink, he’s complete.
Steak for dinner, and life feels grand,
As cash slips right out of his hand.
But wait till the 14th, when he’s dried and spent,
Mburu’s a saint, broken, bent.
He’s ready to listen, humble and wise,
Clinging to advice he previously despised.
A teetotaler now, his dry spell gone,
Surviving on credit, waiting for next month’s cheer.
So here we are, still planning our way,
While Mburu’s decisions lead him astray.
From wild spender to wise with regret,
His paycheck vanishes, but lessons? Not yet.
