The Fables of Afro-Juju Cypher

Lyrics

THE FABLE OF THE DRUM, THE POET & THE CHRONICLE An Afro-Juju Highlife Street Cypher THE JB STUDIOS × BURG CITY RECORDS --- Ancient Invocation Before the drum was struck, before the trumpet lifted its golden breath, before the guitar stretched Highlife across Lagos nights— there was silence. And within that silence lived the breath of the Almighty. For every rhythm begins with breath, and breath belongs to God alone. Thus the storytellers of the Continuum speak first with reverence: GOD is in the work. Without that breath there is no music. Without that spark there is no poet. Without that light there is no civilization. --- The Workshop Long before headlines rolled from printing presses, before microphones carried songs across oceans, there stood a modest workshop in Lagos. Not a palace. Not a parliament. Just a room where cables curled like roots beneath the floor and microphones waited like quiet birds for the next brave voice to sing. The place was called THE JB STUDIOS. Inside that room lived two keepers of imagination. One was Juju. Not only a musician. Not only a philosopher. Juju was a poet. His guitar did not merely play. It spoke. Each chord a stanza. Each melody a conversation. Words walked beside rhythm like travelers sharing the same road. The second was BiNG. Architect of form. Designer of vision. Magician of structure. Where Juju breathed poetry into the air, BiNG shaped imagination into architecture. Together they listened to the quiet rhythm that lives beneath the world. From that rhythm they built a river. The river became known as the Afro-Juju Continuum. --- The Chronicle But the elders who visited the studio soon noticed something important. Songs travel quickly. Memory travels slowly. A melody may cross oceans overnight, but without a record of its story history may forget where it began. So the Continuum forged a new instrument. Not a drum. Not a trumpet. Not a guitar. A chronicle. They called it: THE JB-TIMES A newspaper devoted to cultural intelligence, recording the living movement of the Afro-Juju Continuum. For the elders say: Yoruba wisdom: Bi a bá gbagbé ìtàn, a gbagbé ara wa. If we forget the story, we forget ourselves. --- The Watchers Yet every chronicle must also keep watch. For beneath the surface of nations flow invisible rivers— currents of power, technology, money, and influence. Thus the Continuum built a watchtower within its pages. They named it Tele-Giwa. “Tele,” meaning to see far beyond the horizon. “Giwa,” honoring the fearless journalist Dele Giwa, whose courage lit a lamp for truth. The watchers studied systems the way astronomers study stars. Quietly. Patiently. Carefully. And every discovery they placed into the great archive known as: The JiNG & BiNG Millennium. --- The Road That Remembers But every story of creation must bow before sacrifice. There is a road in Lagos that remembers voices. At Lekki Toll Gate, young citizens gathered beneath the night sky. They carried no swords. Only hope. They sang for justice. They stood for a future they believed the nation could become. Some returned home. Some became echoes carried by history. Yet courage does not vanish. It travels through time like a drumbeat crossing generations. Their footsteps remain within the asphalt. Their voices remain within the conscience of the nation. And the Continuum bows its head in dedication. For the elders say: Igbo wisdom: A na-amụta ihe n’aka ndị gara aga. Wisdom is learned from those who walked before us. --- The Cypher The guitars rise again. Highlife strings shimmer across the Lagos air. Talking drums answer like ancestral conversation. From BURG CITY RECORDS to the creative rooms of THE JB STUDIOS, from the pages of THE JB-TIMES to the archives of the JiNG & BiNG Millennium, the Continuum keeps moving. Poets write. Designers build. Journalists record. And the storytellers close the fable with the same truth that opened it: Before the studio. Before the chronicle. Before the poem. There was breath. And that breath came from God. Thus the Afro-Juju Continuum remembers: GOD is in the work. --- The drum softens. The guitar hums. The page closes. But the rhythm continues.