When trophy cases are put up
and certificates of goodwill
and honour are handed out,
when medals and medallions
swing from your neck
and cuffs of success are inserted
in your shirt of labour,
there is no such honour
as the masses chanting your name,
shaking the hands of the prestige.
Good Lord, my day of honour has come.
This is where my hustle and grind
to reach the top is symbolised.
Where every drop of sweat and tear is celebrated.
With my chest and face engulfed
by the grace of the sun.
I stand forth among the millions,
not just happy but proud.
For my day of honour has come.