The crocodiles
Riding high they feel
Giving bad impression
Living in the coconut shell
They dream like Mat Jenin
Dreaming to reach the sky
They don't see their walk
Walking straight they can't
They forget about the hunters
On the hunt for the bad leaders
Brewing bad news for their own kind
The hunters will catch them soon
Now they can bathe in the sun
Feel the hot beams feel alive
Like Mat Jenin of ancient folk-lore
They will fall
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