A bluebottle sings its dirty song,
His listening ears immune to the jazz.
Koroba sighs in harmony with the fly, this long throat always need a wetting,
Like dessert sands the water is never enough.
Akin to the gods of the cattle rearers, he has no home.
Home is where the heart is,
The heart is where the white liquid flows,
The throat is god and must have sacrifice daily.
Oga
Quick quick
Gimme anoda calabash