hear ye, hear ye! i hereby announce the rebirth of almighty Coin. dude got killed by the might of his pen.. the hood’s pres penned his eulogy. he asked for no man to write his epitaph. i was there when he died. he was before his workstation–thinking how unkind life has been to him. the devil liked to frustrate him out of anything he put his hands on. he used to tearfully relate to me how he became a literati genius. it began when he took out a page from his brother’s Mail & Guardian late 2000. his brother asked him if he ever did, he declined. there are no angels on earth but martyrs known to God but no man. the devil lined out street soldiers to attack him by singing demonic songs on the streets every now and then but that did not stop him from scribbling exciting lines. i write this with tears welling in my eyes. i am about to cry but due to kids presence, i am unable to–just hold back natural waters from dripping because i believe i would be disgraced if that ever happen to me. Coin used to whisper to me: I feel like this world’s cowboy, my pen is my shot gun. i spit colourful fireballs whenever i speak. his speech used to sound so myopic but he was a degreed soul. his business administration degree could have saved the world but he could not because he was not well-liked. He-he! he died defiant and at the same time self-effacing and evasive to a point were crooks bayed for his blood. he will be sitting at home giving props to his brothers to the dismay of you know who (The Devil). the dead man did not want ladies to touch him in his final moments on earth. a red lipstick rolling woman was his kind of girl. he was not afraid to break the law to visit chicks in faraway lands using own childrens money (provided by the state). his friend like to scratch his man in the still of the night and complain about the president’s state of the nation address and how e-tolls are most likely to give his country a bad credit record ,how Fitch and Standard & Poor will knock on Azania’s door and harass its citizens to a point where others would pack their bags and head back to their mother lands.he loved Federalis with all his heart, crime intelligence moved a la blood through his veins. he had no money though to pursue his dream (beside incessant scribbling). before his demise i echoed TILL NEXT TIME. A move the devil calculated as a swipe on his persona. he used to swindle dimes from naive girls who thought skin colour was a price tag.he is now kicking up dust (fighting) with ghosts on the supernatural turfs of a local cemetery. he made a lot of rubbish when he was alive. promising to marry a tot would could barely walk became his undoing and made him a laughing stock of even Twitteratis who did not want to give him a hashtag. he made matters worse by hooking up with a Westsider whom he never knew her name was.They, together made Azania small and drove the whos who mad. he fell in love with murals and magazine picture cut outs. after his passing, no priest wanted to bury him. he now rocks twitter like his skateboard.


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