Yoruba | By Poethic Teapea Alabi

I'm a sojourner in this vast sphere,
My attire could speak me,
My Goobi Could address who I'm.
I'm a native son,
I'm quite a son of the soil.

I'm Yoruba,
I dare not sell my birth-right anyway,
My tribe is my right.

I'm yoruba,
I know the cries of ''Kowe,
On thier way to the riverside,
I dare not desert my culture anyway,
For it's like setting,
A conflagration to my heritage,
My tribe is my heritage.

I'm Yoruba,
I cannot dance to the rumba of the white,
I only dance to the Gbedu steps,
Beating at Aafin of Ooni.

I'm yoruba,
I abhor the grey attire of the white,
The Buba and Kembe of my fore-father I concur,
I detest the language of the British,
My mother tongue I speak,
Yoruba is my mother tongue
Because I'm yoruba.

(c) Poetic Teapea Alabi

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