To you show all wound
Turn to you all weak
Beating the drum of help only in your house
Dancing only to your presence
Worst, you are trusted
Place a plate on my soccer
Though i smell it, but never doubt
MY absence, knife my yam
He serve the gods of 30 pieces of silver
He come along with them
He walk towards me
He kisses me
Then i feel the heat of a betrayer
Looking at my rigth hand side,
It was the best sound of bata.
Smiling turn to the left,
Sekere is seen in its best performance.
Woa! undescribale sweet cvoice from amailden
My agbada fling in the air,
All because of the designed silver written in it kobo.
At the rolling of the last silver,
The screeming of the last boy
Who took the silver and run to mother.
Left alone with your salubata.