15 Sango Duro, Don't Go Yet For Duro Ladipo

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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,