TBJ THE PROPHET!!!.

Awake, ye men, from slumber;

Recognize TB Joshua;

He’s a prophet of Christ Jesus;

See his humility!

See his compassion!

Let the bandage falls from your eyes;

Let your belief becomes conviction;

Remember, conviction comes solely;

From weighing and examining;

See, darkness hisses up;

Always, against him;

The earthly had to oppose;

An envoy of God-the Light;

Human volition of today is directed;

Against the true Will of God;­

Ignore the scoffers;

They’re strangers to spiritual life;

Stand, they are before creation;

They grope through life on earth;

Like drunkards and blind men;

They see not the splendor;

That surrounds them

=DEOLA

OBSESSIONAL!!!

Gosh, temptation;

In late hour;

Ms. Greediness;

Lies nude in his bed;

Jona looks, sees;

Her dangle fruit;

Beckoning him;

She smiles, cues!

His desiring rises;

He stands to conquer;

He’d wish to keep;

His lust latent;

But, lo, ambition;

Like a smoke,

Doesn’t hide forever; 

It can’t be confined;

Though security’s gloom;

Our fate’s seeded;

In the cloud;

Our safety drowned;

In torrents of bombs;

Laden with massacre;

But to him that loves apple;

Something is better:

Eternity of ruling!

Is more important;

Ms. Greed stands;

She cues and wiggles;

Jona reels in desire;

He speaks in tongue!

The ancient Ogoni;

Amaechi understands;

And caution Jona;

But, it’s too late;

Jona had fallen free;

After the 2 out of;

His intended 3 rounds;

Apple’s hymen;

Had gotten torn;

Blood’s on the floor!

If only he has shame;

He did not;

Instead, he cues;

It’s just blood;

His third round;

Will bring forth, rainfall;

That’ll wash our;

Sorrows and tears;

And, will wash away;

Bloods spluttered;

On the Golgotha of;

People democratic party;

People democratic party?

Hell, no!

I meant to say;

People demonic party;

Sardonic government;

Of Nigeria, in Africa;

Who don’t believe him?

Shout hallelujah, somebody;

If you do not.

=DEOLA AGUN

ELITO-DOGSITIS!!!

Our elites always eat and drink;

In the cozy of their offices and homes;

Our elites always puke and shit;

In the cozy of their offices and homes;

But, I and you, their poor handy dogs;

Each time we perceive the aroma;

We jolt to our feet, scurry down;

From our stand inside rain, or sun;

With bitten hunger and thirst;

Just to go lick, and wipe!

Hah, excreta from rich men are sweet;

 “We” the dogs must do our bidding;

It’s an” elito-dogsitis” disease;

Currently ravaging Nigeria;

Hah, helele shure!

(Helele shure=extraordinary shit)

Man no dies, man no rotten;

My friend, helele shure!

=DEOLA

INTERLUDE!!!

Woke up this morning;

With a funny, funny feelin';

And that feelin';

Was an unusual feelin';

Inna my bone yeah;

It inna my blood;

Inna my toes;

Coming up to my brain;

Went to the doctor;

To check out what's matter;

I went to the doctor;

To find out the matter;

Doctor said son;

You have a Reggaemylitis;

I said, "What?"

Doctor said son;

You have a Reggaemylitis;

Is it contagious?

Is it outrageous?

Is it vicious?

Or is it dangerous?

Inna mi bones;

Inna me blood;

From my toes;

Up to my brain;

I can feel it inna my bones;

Inna my ankle;

From my toes;

Up to my brain;

Is it incurable?

It's fit for desirable?

It isn't curable?

Fit for desirable?

I have it inna my toes;

Inna my ankles;

Inna my knees;

Up to my waist;

Under mi ribs;

Across mi shoulder;

Inna mi finger;

Up to my brain;

Reggaemylitis I say...

You only catch it one way;

It's Reggaemylitis I say;

Sometimes your temperature;

It really gets higher;

And the music;

Sets your soul on fire;

Got it inna my toes;

Inna my knees;

Inna my ankles;

Inna my waist;

Inna my heart;

Inna my soul;

Inna my mind;

Come through my mouth;

Inna my finger;

Registered in my brain

=DEOLA (from Peter Tosh)

NGOZI IWEALASTICAL!!!

Our goddess of finance;

Pretty in shining eyes;

She comes and goes;

She speaks in tongue;

Language of the realm of;

Account abracadabra:

External surplus;

Internal surplus;

Balanced overhead;

Balanced under-head;

Our GPD is 50 billion;

Ikoko ekun wa n’ile;

(Our pot of tiger meat)

Kun berekete!

(Is now full)

Ah, my friends!

Come, let us loot;

Let us merry;

I steal;

You steal;

Everybody does;

Makes Mark a smart guy;

Ah, ikoko ekun wa n’ile;

(Our pot of tiger meat)

Titan porogodo!

(Is now empty)

She goes and come;

In her shining eyes;

She speaks in tongue;

Supplementary budget!

Feed us more cakes;

Skyrocket overhead;

Ocean rocket underhead;

Ikoko ekun wa n’ile;

(Our pot of tiger meat)

Titan porogodo!

(Is now depleted)

=DEOLA

WHIFF OF FAST BUCK!!!

I come again with play. Wise-men of my community, kindly come out, and enjoy my gist. I slept in the night. I had a dream. My dream encompasses two brothers who were competing to become king. The senior was highly ingenious, but poor. The younger was exceedingly rich, but lacked ingenious. The senior said: “I’m the rightful person to be made the king. I’ve got the ingenuity; hence would be able to govern the community just like Solomon did his community in Israel.” His younger brother objected: “No, you are not. It is my right. I’ve got money. I’m influential; hence, would be able to drive the economy of our community to prosperity.” The senior brother, again, retorted: king, unlike rich man, needs to be ingenious. It is the only attribute that can propagate the cohesion of the community for peace and tranquility. Without peace, no king could drive the economy into prosperity.” As this tussle goes on, the king-makers summoned them, saying: “we, the king-makers, are conscious of each of your desire to be made the king. However, we seek not to be prejudicial to neither of you. So, here is a first examination to ascertain your intelligence, as it is a prerequisite for somebody who would be made the king to be intelligent. We want for each one of you to go and bring for us what you suppose is the sweetest part of animal meat.” The younger went, and soon came back with the heart of the animal. He said the heart is the sweetest in animal meat. His elder brother, unlike him, went before the elders (the wise-men) to seek counsel. When he got to the elders, he knelt before them saying: “please, elders, the king-makers want for me to bring the sweetest part of animal meat. Please, I beseech thee, tell me: what is the sweetest part of animal meat?” The elders told him, saying: “rise, go give to the king-makers the tongue. The tongue is the sweetest part of animal meat.” Surprised by the suggestion of the tongue as the sweetest part of the animal meat! He enquired to know why it is the tongue that is the sweetest: “Please, elders, why is the tongue the sweetest?” The elders said to him: “the tongue is use to profess happiness. The tongue is filled with praises. It elevates people, brings good tidings, and joy. The tongue is used to sweet talk people into believing anything.” He thanked the elders, and went back, and gave the tongue to the king-makers.

The king-makers though were marveled at the ingenious of the elder boy, but they didn’t let the commotion known to either of the contestant. Alright, boys! The king-makers said: “you are now welcome to the second part of your exam. We would like for you to go again, and bring for us the bitterest part of the animal meat.” The younger one, as is wont of a child, went and brought forth the bile of the meat. He said: “Herein, I’ve brought for you the bile of the animal meat. The bile is so bitter, to such an extent if it spills on any part of the meat, it renders the meat inconsumable.”  “That is interesting, boy!” The king-makers cued.

His elder brother, again, went back to the elders for further counsel. He arrived at the feet of the elders, knelt, and said: “my elders, I’ve come again with another trouble. Kindly forgive my disturbance of your peace. The king-makers have again sent me to go bring forth the bitterest part of the animal meat. I beseech, elders, tell me: what is the bitterest part of the animal meat?” The elders said: “son, go give, again, the tongue to the king-makers. The tongue is the bitterest part of meat. Just as the tongue is the sweetest, so also, is it the bitterest. The tongue could elevate a man, and could also degrade a man. He thanked the elders, and went back, and gave the tongue to the king-makers. He scaled the hurdle! Well, not now, my friend. He soon came to grieving. It should have been the prerogative of the king-makers to declare him winner, and crowning him; but unfortunately, in this world, you never can suppress the whiff of a fast buck. Poor man continually lies among the failures. Our world, this world, is in the pocket of the rich. The king-makers subjugated decorum, declared, and crowned the younger brother.

No! The people rose in protest against the decision of the king-makers. The agitation of the people reached a crescendo, to the extent the elders saw it fit to intervene and rectified the anomaly; but, the fast buck on the highway is again ready to dance nude. Lo, and behold it flashes its whiff again, and the struggle to entrench a decorum, ever since, has remain a vain shadow. Hah, hah, hah! The elders joined to become like children. Not even so, the Holy Bible had said: “a man shall become like children?”

 =DEOLA

ARISE, NIGERIANS!!!

Hah, our mumu don do!

(Hah, our stupidity is enough)

They got scholarship;

When they were in school;

We got hunger;

They got bursary in colleges;

We are charged fees;

They got feeding voucher;

We got striking teachers;

They got future;

Them, and their children;

We got feature;

Bombing, robbing, kidnapping;

In school and after school;

We get posted to maiming zone;

Their children go overseas;

They say it’s our lot;

We, the people;

 And, perhaps our children;

If we ever get to marry;

Gotta be their slaves;

Slaves look to God;

For a blissful heaven;

Hah, my mumu;

(mumu is stupidity)

Your mumu;

Our mumu;

Don do, my friends!

Poro oko nibe yen;

(Hail them with stone overthere)

Poro oko, e don sele ni Cairo;

(Hail of stone has happened in Cairo)

Poro oko!

(Hail of stone)

Shout alalaya (Hallelujah), somebody;

If you don’t believe me.

=DEOLA

THE USA!!!

If tomorrow;

All the things were gone;

I’d work for all my life;

And I had to start again;

I’d thank my luck stars;

To be living here today;

‘Cause the flag;

Still stand for freedom;

And they can’t take that away;

I’m proud to be American;

Where at least;

I know I’m free;

And I won’t forget;

The men who died;

Who gave that right to me;

And I gladly stand up;

Next to you;

And, defend her still today;

‘Cause there ain’t any doubt;

I love this land;

God bless the USA;

From the lake of Minnesota;

To the hills of Tennessee;

Across the plains of Texas;

From sea to shining sea;

From Detroit down to Houston;

And, New York to L.A;

Well there’s pride;

In every American heart;

And it’s time we stand and say;

That I’m proud to be an American;

Where at least, I know I’m free;

And I won’t forget;

The men who died;

Who gave that right to me;

And I gladly stand up;

Next to you;

And defend her still today;

‘Cause there ain’t no doubt;

I love this land;

God bless the USA…”

=DEOLA

(From Lee Greenwood)

CROSSING THE RUBICON!!!

Snowden!

Oh, Snowden!

Omo wa idi oro;

O ri idi orisa;
O ti leri be;
O si sebe;

Gee, oti ri kini;

Ti nbe nigbo;

To ndun mauru;

O s’oko si alagemo;

Gbangele bi oke;
Agbanyiri;

Ajanaku ti nmigbo;

Pentuka!

Eyin bale, otuka;

Geee, kaare ooo!

Gangan soo!

Ariwo taa!

Snowden kari aye;

O dara be, ore mi;

Sugbon, wobi na;

Kini kan nbe;

Lehin mefa;

Meje lo nje;

Ori eni tiaba f’agbon;

Kiije nibe;

Okurin toatorin;

Obirin toatorin;

Ikan yo lomi lese jura;

Lowe ni anlulu agidigbo;

Ologbon lo njo;

Omoran lo nmodi re;

Odomode ni e o!

O ko laya alagemo!

Oti fori jona;

Bi gbogbo igi;

Ba nwo pani loko;

Kiise biti igi ata;

Asa nke, oni oun n’eye;

Awodi nke o, onoun n’eye;
Sugbon; taloma foro ejo;

Fiwe t’agbon o?

 =DEOLA

TRANSLATION

Snowden! Oh, Snowden! A child seeks the secret of the cult; he crosses Rubicon of the god. He had vowed that, and, he did exactly. Gee, he sees what’s in the wood that had been bellowing day and night. He stones the abominable cult-the mountainous rock, the tiger of the world that shakes the forest. Pam! The egg falls, and is broken. Geee, hail you, men! There is uproar, drumming, and Snowden popularity rings all over the world. That is good enough, my friend. But, look here first. There is something after six. It is called seven. A person, whose head is used to break coconut, does not eat from it. If men and women pee on walk, either must be wetter behind the leg than the other. In parables do we drum, but only the intelligent among the people dances it; while the wise interprets it. You are just a child. You do not have the charisma to withstand the cult. You have singed your head. If all trees fall and kill, it is not the like of pepper tree. The Eagle crises: “I am the bird.” The hawk also crises: “I am the bird.” However, who would compare the fang of snake to that of wasp? 

=DEOLA

EARLY MAN!!!

“I was born by the river, in a little tent; and, just like the river, I've been running ever since. It's been a long, long time coming.” I started school at about five years of age. I remember that I intensely loathe the idea; because, it severely curtailed my period of play and freedom. You must be tidy in appearance coming to school, which meant either a complete ablution, or the washing of face and limbs to present at least a good facade.

In my fifth out of six years of elementary school, I had a teacher who was so much obsessed with doling out voluminous homework to us every day, worse especially at weekends. He was always unconcerned whether we would have homework from our other classes. Often times, we would rock in overloaded assignments. However, in time, we nicknamed him “ise ni oogun ise” (work is the medication for poverty), a mockery of what he used to emphasize each time he tried to employ corporal punishment for our failure to do our homework. In time again, we devised tactics to overcome his punishment. We indulged the habit of “rank zerox”. We would copy ourselves like rank zerox photocopier machine, and thence turn –in the work independently. I must say, he was easy to manipulate this way; simply because, the classroom method was the usual tradition of class.

Unfortunately, one day, as the wont of saying in Nigerian adage, “monkey went to market, and didn’t return home.” I had an ugly experience in the class. Prior this day, this teacher had given us homework to draw the map of the world. Unfortunately, I was very poor in drawing. So, in order to meet up the schedule, I splashed kerosene unto my paper, in order to make it transparent, and used it to trace the map of the world from the atlas. I did a marvelous job on the map, but alas, he discovered my dishonesty. How did he? He perceived the odor of kerosene from my paper. He called me out, a cane in his hand: “Agun would please come out from your sit? Hah, hah! O ti j’elubo dudu. Bosibi, odaada (hah, hah! He’s eaten black mashed cassava flour. Come out forward here, fool).” He asked another two heftier students to come out, and restrained from struggling while he canes me. One stood in front of me, held both of my hands, the other stood behind me, grabbed hold my both legs, and I was floating facing the floor, my buttock up. He caned me, mercilessly, twelve strokes. At each stroke interval, he would hail my name (“Agun, Agun”), and say: “eyi i ni eje ara mi, ti mo pese sile fun idariji ese.” (This is my blood, which I had preserved for the remission of sin). By the time he let me loose, my buttock had become swollen and bleeding. I couldn’t sit. The pain was hallucinating. I felt feverish, my body temperature rose. I was seeing broken stars crashing on me, and dragons in Halloween masks.

My teacher, in due minute, became sympathetic. Tears drooling from his eyes, as I was crying. He hugged me, and said: “Agun omo Agun (Agun son of Agun), you know I love you so much. You are the most brilliant in the class; but, I didn’t want for you to embark on the train of being dishonest. I had already known you are poor in art work; and even despite that, you are way better than your classmates. So, don’t do that next time. Will you?” I shook my head: No, I won’t.

I was taken to the medical center where I was given a shot and some medication. The irony of it! When I arrived home, my parents; especially mom, approved my teacher’s punishment. Mom was no nonsense kind of a woman. She wouldn't tolerate any of her children being dishonest and because of this event, she made sure to sit me down with my books, and practice drawing of maps every day before she’d allowed me interlude to go roam the street, dancing the moonwalk to Michael Jacko music: "wanna be startin' somethin'", in disco, with my buddies.

=DEOLA