Uyalila uyalila umama,
After being robbed the last cent she had and been shot
Crawling to the nearest busy street
Forcing her bloody heavy body to move
No one noticing her
Movements up and down
Pupils busy searching for gold eGoli
Some busy destroying their lungs
While young girls are on the roads selling their bodies
Like they are selling fakumoya bread

Mothers selling their gifts from God
Ooh poor mama pushing herself through that practice so she get help
I tell you eGoli pupils are busy bees
Crawling on top of broken glasses
Ooh poor mama

The earth, making your clothes torn
But because mama you are a rock you never gave up
Though you kept on bleeding you pushed and pushed
Until you reach your destiny
Then police called to pick up your left overs
Three hungry stomachs looking forward to seeing mama
But all they see and get for their hungry stomachs
Is a police with a sad face saying ‘Too late for mama’.
The words ‘too late for mama’ whined in their heads
Till one fainted