The giant is asleep— with a slumber she is cursed.
"She's too frail, she can't survive," are their scornful thoughts.
A true love's kiss— all she needs cannot be bought.
What can we do to break this curse?

In our hands, a part of her future lies.
Let us replenish her pride and help restore her honour.
Find her true lover— I beg of you this favour.
So he may kiss her lips and let her rise, lest she dies.

She's a damsel in distress— not a princess but mightier than Queens.
Nigeria— Giant of Africa she is, she makes 'them' tremble.
But if on the ground she lays feeble,
On her 'they' will trample and take the win.

The day is coming, we are all afraid,
"What if we die while picking a lover to kiss her lips?"
"Will there be chaos? Will we steal her peace?"
Only because a prophecy has been made.

It's just a kiss from her dearest lover,
Without searching, prayer faith and hope is vain
Let us try breaking this curse and removing her pain
By finding her true lover.

We've searched— so many claimed to be the one so someone asked, "Who among you is her true lover?"
Another said, "Let's just take the risk and cast votes,
On us she awaits, on us she dotes.
Then we can pray and hope we find her true lover."

"Remember well," started another. "Along the curse came a prophecy—
'A true love's kiss will birth good luck and make things better,
An ordinary kiss will fuel her pain and make us beggars' "
Still, that person said, "Let us vote, take the risk and we shall see."

"Will this giant rise?"
"Will she birth good luck and things get better?—
"Or shall there be calamity and we turn to beggars'?"
All sort of questions start to arise.

Let us all vote so one can kiss her,
Even if things don't get better—
and we all become beggars',
We'll have peace knowing we tried our best but didn't find her true lover.