Halahoyi, Africans, something stinks

like the ground snake, fouling the air.

Zulu, Sotho, Thonga, Xhosa, Mfengu,

all are the same despite distinctions.

Here we are, asleep with one eye.

We'll get the news: we'll watch with the other.

We never took part in those prayers,

so particular in their prejudice.

This “Union”'s a shade-screened leopard

in all the Creator's sorrows as well,

all enemies will be crushed by it,

and the pillars of heaven shattered.

Be as one and sing one song

with your compatriot “Die-As-One”.

We bark for you, my people,

confronting those who pick us clean.

You see, my people, we're old,

truth threw us long ago,

as we idly bicker we're left in the dust

and Africa slips through our fingers forever.

There's “Union” in heaven, Home of Peace;

on earth we bicker in strife,

and Satan sings praises till his guts bust

seeing the nation at sixes and sevens.

It's a shame, my people, a scandal,

a disgrace not to help your own,

and you still saying, “We're students:

who are others compared to us?”

How many Judases toyed in secret

with black people's lives, then died in the dark?

I've travelled the land without a book:

what do scholars find in a book?