There once was a man with a spine made of clay,
His wallet was empty, his hair turning gray.
His woman would sigh, then roll her dull eyes,
And flirt with his boss right in front of his fries.
But then came a book, like thunder, like fire,
With secrets of power, ambition, desire.
It spoke of testosterone, wealth, and physique,
Of ruling like Caesar—no room for the weak.
It taught Machiavelli, the art of the game,
To make men respect you and women go insane!
With muscles like granite and swagger so bold,
Your ex will regret all the lies that she told.
For Sh 4,000, just think what you’ll gain—
The charm of a king, the mind of a brain.
You’ll stand in a room, and eyes will just glow,
Even nuns will be tempted—but they’ll never let it show!
So grab you a copy, don’t wait to be told,
Before life hands you wrinkles and dreams that went cold.
The weak men will whimper, the wise men will feast,
For The Tribal Chief turns lost boys into beasts!
