His arched back aches from the scorches,
And sweat burns his eyes.
His hands are sore and full of blisters
Bloodshot eyes ready to take on the world
I say to him arise!
For the whip may hurt your back,
But it can never sting your soul,
Yes, hope comes from all over,
for Ataa Kpakpa has granted many unto us,
And it comes in all forms.
Ever towering giant ant-hills
Ever-green foliage and bushes,
The sweet scents of the lavender tree,
And the eerie whistling through the leaves.
I say arise!
The kpanlogo drums echo it with rhythm,
The flute players blow it with passion
Xylophone players beat it out raging
And the fontomfrom speaks for itself
For the days of slavery are over!
Physically, mentally, spiritually.
Take hold, take charge!
The reins are in your hands now.
Arise, my crawling black brother.
Arise and stand tall.
Wipe your brow with the back of your palm,
it's time to take action now.
Take a stride, o long gaited brother
And move towards possession
For God has placed all within reach,
All you have have to do is move.
T'is but mere laziness
For akpanga to postpone his building
Drinking brukutu and crying agyei m'awu
When the rains come pouring on his profound baldness.
Stand, o my strong black brother,
Let no one take your place.
As the sun rises,
And the sun sets,
The horizon is it's place.
The days of slavery are over.
They know it, we are free
And this time Kwasi Broni can not heal our fever,
And they are scared indeed!
For no one can stand in your way.
No one, absolutely none.