The reddish muddy sandy land
That grows green herbal vegetations
The cultural temple of the world
Second to none
The children of great warriors
Whose descent can be traced to the nobility of the Oba
Oba gha to kpere,
Wa bo khian o!- we greet;
And our songs we still sing
Carried with enormous pride like the Ada and Eben
Whose back never touches the ground.
The beauty in the dance makes royalty do a dance
The harmony in the voices that sings makes the drum beat
The dancers to the drum beat
The stylish moves we see.
Kola nuts we break and strong gin wets the ground
And so are my endless smiles as the gods favors me.
The land of my birth I dearly miss from my distance
Whenever I visit the ancient city from the garden city
Traditional images I see
The master craft of my fathers.
The food we eat, well pounded with the strength of the muscles
Until it becomes handy in hand
Gently accompanied by the egusi soup
The soup with a lot of orishirishi in it
Pushed down below by the fresh palm wine
The sweetness of the gods.
For our Chiefs a thief you will become
As you will be caught stealing over a million glance at royalty.
As for the arts Igun tells it on the street,
In bronze and on dry wood, a masterpiece.
Many ships can swim the gele-gele that flows
And so does the Oba remain the Oba.
At holy Arosa, I caught my first revelation
And Izobo has of it in calabash at different street curves.
Hmm! yummy! The gods are well fed.
Our flag is red and Olokun remains supreme.
Our ivie is priceless, beautifully it decorates our ever beaded neck and hands.
Truly, I can’t tell it all in these few lingering lines that speaks in the nobility of my existence.
Just visit I insist driving through the paths of my ancestors.
Benin calls, and so did I answer, E-de!