The hood of prudence,
Cheerful confrontations have
turned into discord.
Streets that were once free
From agitation are now poorly lit,
Occupied with drugs and gangsterism.

All that you hear are gunshots
Roads are stained with blood
Our dialects are constantly filled
with scents of blood.
All hope has been lost
We’re told to stay behind closed doors
We have been turned into prisoners.

Once the sun collapses behind the horizon
The hyenas of the town are freed to
torture us.
The streets of Eersteriver have been
tarnished.
Hopefully someday God will grace
Us with eternal peace.