I was odd, like number 11 but even because my star was eleven.
With none to assist in my goals, my boots Sang Songs of Sorrow in honor of my parents in heaven.
I took to the field a pair of shoes, old but full with glory.
But I was Denied and Disgraced as everyone avoided me, as though I was pylori.
Poor Richly minded I acted, my dreams bigger than my sight.
Ivory Coast was my starting point, the world was my goal but in the gutters was my plight.
Talented Trouble I was called as I had none as sponsors.
The earth turned its back on me, I'm out to poverty on auction.
Like a fiery wave, I stormed the pitch displaying my moves.
Like honey is to bees, I was rushed, applauded and celebrated, I was cool.
Like An Amazing Amateur, I dreamt of my life's second half.
Like a Proud Professional, I lived full time in football and played my part.
For Fate Favoured me, I made a name, in Chelsea and the world.
Lampard, Terry, Mikel, name them, we played in one accord.
I Dared Destiny, Denying Dangerous Demands from trials and drugs.
I Prevailed and Produced one of African's finest, I am Drogba.
VNa🖊
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