The land, our land
Lives blind to our tumultuous strives
The iron bars barricade our workshops
And the gods of forgery cast spells on our orchestrated prayer
Yet you asked us to sing:
For The Gambia, our homeland
We strive and work and pray.
Perilous dreams ransack our hope for unity
With a many hypocrites only singing to Napoleon
When the songs should have been for our homeland:
Some of our men, our eyes and hope, confuse loyalty for the land to a brute;
They misappropriate our security:
In the open streets, in broad daylight, they suffocate their siblings;
The pungent odor of fired bullets traumatize the innocent;
The poisoned irons pierce through their bodies;
And like a vagabond in a forest, kick and trample on the corpses;
As if we, the innocent masses aren’t worth a thing.
Where is the freedom we devote our lives to;
When our land is transposed to Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’?
But we will still insist:
That all may live in unity,
Freedom and peace each day.
Together we will keep mourning:
To the Lord of the flies, we spread our arms and ask for the undesired justice;
To the peeper, we ask for equality towards the common good;
For our diverse people have lost the brotherhood;
All but to a greed for power by the varmint.
Tell us, to our land or to the mutant:
Where should we pledge our allegiance when our daily songs
Are still hanging in the firmament?
Yet they ask us to pledge our firm allegiance, renew our promise,
And remain ever true.