My Sister

My sister walks in like, “You understand?”

Moisturizing dreadlocks with the magic hand

She checks herself twice, says “Style is my brand!”

But when boys text her, she says “BLOCK HIM, HE’S BANNED!”

Chorus

Boys are bad! — that’s her daily speech

But “Fefe! Idiat!” is what she’ll scream and preach

Then she calls my phone like it’s urgent outreach:

“Are you home? I’m hungry… can you cook nshima, please?”

Verse 2

She says “I’m coming!” even when she’s not near

Then eats soya chunks like it’s a new career

She’ll raid the pot like a food pioneer—

But let a man misbehave? “BLOCK HIM, MY DEAR!”

Bridge

Her dreadlocks shining like a hair-care queen

Her style on point, always crisp, always clean

But if hunger hits? You know what she means:

“Faith! Nshima! Now! I’m starving — intervene!”

(Final Chorus)

Boys are bad! — she repeats it strong

But nshima and chunks? She won’t last long

And the way she talks? It could be a theme song:

“You understand? BLOCK HIM! … Now cook before I’m gone!”