Òmìnira now omi ìnìra
How hath the mighty fallen!
Ilu abínibí mi óò
Which way to go?
We wear the good olden days
With full blown pride like Ìyàwó Àṣẹ ṣe gbé
Our past glories so loud like silent echoes
We are like an àbíkú with epilepsy.
Your offspring are weeping
In utter disgust neighbors’ sigh
Hailing the giant of Africa with mock bows
Oh, what a pity!
Like a wanderer we’ve strayed afar
When the foundation is faulty —
The clarion call is clear
Only HE can purge our clogged filthy drain
With much alacrity turn back to HIM
Like a prodigal son that we are
At this T-junction
Our only hope is up.