Let no one speak ill of the dead
Death is a debt all men pay
Adiye irana ki se ohun a je gbe
Onibode here we are
Our eulogy of he, an illusionist
Him who travelled through thin air
Confusing authorities and Information Technology at Heathrow
Landed at Muritala
Hero unsung
Dressed as a woman
Finally we got to know
His arrival we heralded
On how effective our juju was
Native doctors clientele surged his testimony
Later a sham
Laughter for our soul
Fela my Uncle rest in peace
“Suffering and smiling”
A prophet in your own right
An extradition took you now
To No-man’s land
A land we may never see you come back from
A coronary was the reason
That much we were told
Ai rin jina, ni a ri abuke okere
Eni ba tule tule, a ri a’yan funfun
One extradition superseded another
Tales abound
Some founded
Some unfounded
Here we are Onibode
Adie irana we brought
He ate several his own we bring now
Him born of woman
Successor of him with no shoes
Who trode us down with our gifts
A ruckus this is still
Let no one speak ill of the dead
Death is a debt all men pay.
