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    The small gods are dancing, Merrying in your abode.


    Oko-aran, you the spirit of dance,


    Putting back your rhythmic buttocks after the hands.


    Sango, the man with feet of bata,


    A drum laid open to palms


    Your dance is that of possessed occult.


    Those rhythms you dance are of fire


    I see a group of flesh dance,


    Brought to life by a drop of your sharpest semen. Okiti-ogan dance and wriggles her fleshy buttocks; Causing uproar and hiccups.


    Fire spittle forth and back, That''s the call of Olukoso. His dance consumes all,


    Duro, tall dark bearded man,


    Framed in strength and agility…


    But I know Duro,