Song parody of
From Batouala/Africa SOS
by Yolanda Wisher & The Afroeaters
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Des horizons où le soleil se lève à ceux où il se couche, le vent pousse les brouillards Ils Enveloppent de leurs pagnes la hauteur des "kagas," qui n'apparaissent que Vaguement Encore. Et, dans ces brumes, tous les oiseaux chantent, des perroquets aux MerlesMétalliques, des hoche-queue aux gendarmes et aux toucans
Les tourterelles rasent le sol de leur vol. Les poules s'enfuient, tête sous l'aile, dès Qu'elles voient, à travers les brouillards qui se fondent, à faible altitude tournoyer les Charognards
L'air frais vient, fuit, revient. Et produisent les arbres un frisselis de mille feuilles Mouillées. Et frémissent les cimes des "varas." Et, en agitant leurs longues TigesFflexibles, les bambous gémissent.
Un dernier coup de vent déchire les dernières brumes, d'où le soleil s'élance, lavé Intact Lucide
Devant la plaie qui s'élargissait, là-bas, du rouge soleil, il y eut un apaisement qui I'espace en espace, gagna les plus lointaines solitudes
Mais, indifférent à la faveur solaire, assis, à quelques pas de sa case, auprès du brasier Qu'il venait d'allumer, Batouala, le mokoundji, l'esprit libre de toute pensée, lentement Sagement, fumait sa bonne vieille pipe, son bon vieux "garabo."
Le jour était venu
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Mama, wanna talk to you
Mama, don't wanna talk about you
Mama, don't wanna read about you
Mama, don't wanna see you cry
But I can't talk while the children
Are fallin from the future like meteors
And I can't find the words to tell you
That the slaughter's got a number on my soul
And where's the army that'll rescue the damned
And where's the white man who divided up all the land
And where's the king and queens who will claim more than just kente
And where's the truth that'll blow my romantic jungle to bits
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
The Africa of exotic and endangered
The Africa of fertile rivers and tainted water
The Africa of rainforests and pharmacies
The Africa of diamonds and jewelers
The Africa of cattle and meatpackers
The Africa of Miriam Makeba and Saartje Baartman
The Africa of explorers and missionaries
The Africa of blood and genocide
The Africa of manhood and dictators
The Africa of matriarchy and rape
The Africa of rebellion and refugees
The Africa of Ali and ebola
The Africa of Iman and famine
The Africa of expensive shit and cheap help
The Africa of adinkra symbols and bleaching creams
The Africa of jungle and hell
The Africa with all our DNA and with no clue where we wandered
The Africa not Egypt and not Rome
The Africa I desire
The Africa I despise
The Africa I ain't
The Africa I am
Des horizons où le soleil se lève à ceux où il se couche, le vent pousse les brouillards Ils Enveloppent de leurs pagnes la hauteur des "kagas," qui n'apparaissent que Vaguement Encore. Et, dans ces brumes, tous les oiseaux chantent, des perroquets aux MerlesMétalliques, des hoche-queue aux gendarmes et aux toucans
Les tourterelles rasent le sol de leur vol. Les poules s'enfuient, tête sous l'aile, dès Qu'elles voient, à travers les brouillards qui se fondent, à faible altitude tournoyer les Charognards
L'air frais vient, fuit, revient. Et produisent les arbres un frisselis de mille feuilles Mouillées. Et frémissent les cimes des "varas." Et, en agitant leurs longues TigesFflexibles, les bambous gémissent.
Un dernier coup de vent déchire les dernières brumes, d'où le soleil s'élance, lavé Intact Lucide
Devant la plaie qui s'élargissait, là-bas, du rouge soleil, il y eut un apaisement qui I'espace en espace, gagna les plus lointaines solitudes
Mais, indifférent à la faveur solaire, assis, à quelques pas de sa case, auprès du brasier Qu'il venait d'allumer, Batouala, le mokoundji, l'esprit libre de toute pensée, lentement Sagement, fumait sa bonne vieille pipe, son bon vieux "garabo."
Le jour était venu
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Mama, wanna talk to you
Mama, don't wanna talk about you
Mama, don't wanna read about you
Mama, don't wanna see you cry
But I can't talk while the children
Are fallin from the future like meteors
And I can't find the words to tell you
That the slaughter's got a number on my soul
And where's the army that'll rescue the damned
And where's the white man who divided up all the land
And where's the king and queens who will claim more than just kente
And where's the truth that'll blow my romantic jungle to bits
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
Africa's in danger
The Africa of exotic and endangered
The Africa of fertile rivers and tainted water
The Africa of rainforests and pharmacies
The Africa of diamonds and jewelers
The Africa of cattle and meatpackers
The Africa of Miriam Makeba and Saartje Baartman
The Africa of explorers and missionaries
The Africa of blood and genocide
The Africa of manhood and dictators
The Africa of matriarchy and rape
The Africa of rebellion and refugees
The Africa of Ali and ebola
The Africa of Iman and famine
The Africa of expensive shit and cheap help
The Africa of adinkra symbols and bleaching creams
The Africa of jungle and hell
The Africa with all our DNA and with no clue where we wandered
The Africa not Egypt and not Rome
The Africa I desire
The Africa I despise
The Africa I ain't
The Africa I am
