In the land of Éni à bìré
When the sun rests its nerves
Comes the echo of the Iya Ilu
Summoning it’s people
To a répéter of its evenings
The young ones await under the great odan tree
To hear the stories of Iya Àgbá
The men drunk with native wine pray
For a bountiful harvest
The women wriggle their waists
In seduction to the Àrewa chorus
Come Àdunni my beloved
let us dance to the rhythm
of the Shékéré and Bátá
and being drunk with the face
of the milky moon
profess of our undying love
which Osun herself established
and Élèdumàré
has ultimately blessed.
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