Drum it low, drummer!
Gently! Gently o!
For the spirit of Chief Iṣẹ́ l’ówó
is pacing again!

Call the town crier!
Tell the elders!
Chief Kanmi the Rich is not resting!
His grave is rumbling!
His ghost is sweating!
The ancestors say he has refused to sit!

Ah-ah! Chief!
You built five mansions in Lekki,
And one in London for “just in case.”
Now your son has turned them into party palaces.
DJs scream louder than the prayer you never said!

Waka-waka boy!
Every Friday, one new club!
Spraying your money like insecticide!
Your sweat is in that bottle service!
You drank garri in the 80s.
Now he drinks Hennessy in your name!

Ayé ò!

Chief! Your daughter
with waist like a sculptor’s dream,
now wears bone-straight from Brazil,
posting selfies beside your tombstone;
“RIP Daddy, you funded my glowing-up.”

She called your will “vibes only”!

Haaa! Your wife!
The fair one with fake cry at your burial,
She now rides the new boy like a power bike!
Kayode the Sweet;
that sugar-roach with tight trousers,
now wears your native attire to the club!

He used your burial aso-ebi to sew joggers!

Eduroná! What is that noise?
Iji ah!
Sango! Ogun! Call a meeting o!
This man cannot sleep!
He tries to repossess from the afterlife,
but the bank says,
“Ghost signatures no dey valid!”

He whispers through the AC vent
“They are wasting my wealth!”
But all they hear is,
“Something is wrong with NEPA!”

Poor Chief Iṣẹ́ l’ówó!
He drinks ghost Lipton at midnight,
Muttering to termites in his coffin:

“I built empire with ulcer and stress,
now they use it to buy wigs and breasts!”

My people,
if you hoard wealth like yam in a sack,
you will not eat it in the afterlife!
They will peel it for stew you won’t smell!

Now,
let the talking drum announce:

Even if you hide your account password,
they will guess it.
Even if you lock your vault
with thumbprint,
they will say:
“he would have wanted me to have it.”

So rest o, Chief!
The Benz has gone!
The shares are gone!
Your portrait is now a coaster
in someone’s kitchen!

Let the masquerade of madness dance away!
Let the ghost retire to his rightful mat!
Because whether you like it or not…

They. Will. Finish. Your. Money.

Tum tum ta! Tum tum ta!

Chief Iṣẹ́ l’ówó—Go and Rest!