Banjulo, Bathurst, Banjul,
City of my birth, land of my kin,
You’ve seen it all, swallowed it all,
Blood once flowed your streets
You sipped it all,
Water once covered your streets,
you coughed it back
You are the home to the good, the bad and the ugly and just like the western, you resisted and stood firm as the gully,
Small and not grand,
An island over populated,
Your sons, murdered in the streets,
your daughters stripped in the streets,
young mothers at every corner,
weed smokers at the slumber,
Divided between north, south and central
It is a city yet very essential.
A bustling seaport; the busy south
Buzzing during the day
Whispering as the sun goes down.
Better known as half die,
The area where half died.
