The gods might have travelled
To learn from their neighbours across the fence
Save your drink and pass it round in the circles of men.
The ancestors could quench their thirst
For all the counsel they shared
We owe this keg, with enough to buy favours from Kutsiami.
May the ghosts of yesterday and yet to come stay away
We raise our songs to carve the sands
With nimble dance and not bare bones.
Okumadada created man; He does not drink
He has the heart of a woman, fierce and discerning
We show Him drink, we do not offer Him a drop.
Otwaduampɔn never rests; busy mediating our prayers
While the gods snore from the drinks we offer
Drying our palm trees and our water.
May they learn or never return(weɛ)
May their curses rot their teeth (weɛ)
May they totter home in disgrace for the love of whiskey and schnapps (weɛ)
I lift this to our veiled minds
May it bring light (weɛ)
Bumper harvests and fertile wombs (weɛ)
So next when we pour libation
We will not deny the earth (weɛ).