Crowing angry roosters in our bellies
Awake us at dawn
Whilst we
Roll on our kingly beds
Made of lion skin

A 45 degrees sun alarms
Time to go hunt
Arms to our arms
Lest poverty haunt
At church men ought to pray
At home they ought to hunt the prey

At noon
Our wet bodies
Call for drum beats under the tree
As we soon exchange the loads
With a hunger killer
From our African beauties

The sun blaze goes reddish
Then blur,
Giving way to our ululations
To light up the sky
Ancestral dances all over the place

And tomorrow
Singing our favorite song
Of peace with loud cries
I am proud to be an African