Fela and His Music

The guitars have been riffed right
The drums banged in well
The piano tuned just smooth
So it starts, the guitar first
Then the golden trumpet
Both going along, the fight to show off each of their set skills
Both attacking minds that sit and listen
Then from nowhere, the bass jumps in
Like an old father, it tells the others to listen
The young ones grumble on and about
Then like the shaking of hips
A gourd coated with seed steps into the mix
Like a woman with beads on waist
It rustles, spreading her wings
Then the noise suddenly blends in together
Making meaning to gathering of different sounds
Like sugar to milk, like blue to sky
It begins to make sense, well well
People begin moving legs,
Fela’s making a commotion of instruments
Fela’s making life come forth from man-made tools
Voices now ring at the back, women I think
Chanting words like that from a priest’s tongue
One, two, three, go, they say
The guitar now holds the floor
Then the trumpet goes into the mix
Head to head with the one-rhythm-guitar
Oh I see, the trumpet’s telling all it can move here and there
You see I’m different, but my sounds has no barrier, it says
Hmmm, the trumpet is putting in work
From the back, the old bass, low and full
Appears amongst the kids
And then like a sudden blow
They all go sleeping

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