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Fix This Country with its gaping sores that ooze puss And the frightening silence that predicts its doom I remember the old man on that high table, who only but yesterday was a-beg-gar of us I remember the destinies we tossed on a flip of coins; Pretend. And called flames flowers. Losses are profits.   There is no peace in this pieces here To tell of how pregnant women give it up in Korle Bu; And the thousand ghosts roaming our death-trap roads To tell of how golden, water has become And how the Akosombo almost always never gives light   To sing of how ale and beer is a hard-to-come-by

Ghana generalC inusah zanjinaFix thisகானா ஜநரல்சரி இது