I am Betiku,
Son of Famurewa
Last of his kind...
After long years of travel, About our return they marvel. After long years in chains
(Now in freedom) still in pains. Our capture is our agony!
Too long have we been in this thraldom,
That we can't join the Fitila procession of our source, Our black heritage has become a loss. Our capture is our agony!
We must narrate our stories,
Though a tale that begs blackout it is;
Like a terminal disease, We were treated to slavery of debt. Our capture is our agony!
We must praise those memories
I Betiku, last generation will tell my memories.
Caught and chained, my lips are a gate.
Blood rushed and gushed, waiting on fate. Our capture is our agony!
While some of us died on the plantation, Some liberated and with them came a nation On the Caribbean though, we are from Bekuta.
But an old woman said we are from Abeokuta. Our capture is our agony!
Today we are back,
But back to cultural lack,
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