Let backbitters mock our love and talk about,
And still, when we cling together haters will shout.
Let me hold your hands like the night holds tomorrow,
And I’ll take you to the shrine to make a romantic vow.
Your likeness, I couldn’t find on others face,
While my moments with Bímpé, I couldn’t retrace.
I have tasted from your pot of love,
And while we lie in bed I’d like to lay my hands on your curves.
Let me impregnate you and take you to mother,
And when we are done we’ll receive our blessings from my dear father
For I already told mother motirénikéjì,
And maybe twice or trice you’ll born me ìbejì