Let us summon our spirit man
I don’t know what you call love
My belly is empty and you’re rubbing my temple
Mr Man, are you a mad man?
I might as well be a flesh eater
I will snap your neck like the Christmas chicken I’m expecting
And your meat will taste delicious in my pot of soup.

I can hear the tumbling even over a wave of sea
When the celestians sing and clap,
I hear myself roar
And you’re complaining I’m boring
Excuse me, are you a mad man?

I should stretch myself out and pretend like I’m fetching water
You weirdo
With what fibre or fat and oil?
What happened to protein and calcium?
Please, my blood cells are dead
Let us find another way.
Perhaps, in iya lanre’s buka.

Where the Efo riro is enticing as a woman’s breast
And the snails can ginger our rock and roll.
The pounded yam is so white and soft,
Even the women with spoons as hands
the spoons , extensions of them
Sweaty and lustful looking
With assorted meats overflowing and hot.

Now you call me ffo
Because energy comes from the sun abi???
Maybe solar’s technology has you confused
Afterall a robot can’t relate
Make I no talk
Na me carry yash reach your side.
If to say I sabi craze dey wear suit,
that your official car won’t smell my legs.

Mr use till I dry and die
You no tire
Make I malnourish go house
You and this your
Christmas madness.

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