I,  I wish,  I wish,  I wish 
i hunted elands in the expansive velds.

A rustic warrior,  A martial pedagogue.

Subservient to his eminence, Lord Shaka,

"The Boers approach!", wails a herald, I gather men of valiant hue; "say goodbye 2 ur wives nd children, march 2 d 'Sangoma' in a queue,

The warlock conjures some elixir, his incantation's a melodic aria; we guzzle d potions in gritty bliss, i hand my spear 2 my carrier,

We stride forth to defend our kraals, our belligerent  eyes on fire; the huguenots are caught in ambush, as we charge at dem wit ire,

My archers release the arrows, nd some enemies are felled; i clutch my talisman wit delight, nd my dignity's upheld,

Our white foes unleash their muskets, as some sputtering gunnery follow; but the cannonade is vain, for we stil advance sans sorrow,

"could dis be a dream?", they wonder, "or some bantu voodoo's work?"; "keep firing d bushmen!", one orders, "or we run outta luck!",

Their arsenal's expended, they drop their guns nd flee; we chase nd capture d leader, nd leave every other free,

Drag him back 2 my cheering kin, He cries nd begs for Freedom; his neck is set, I raise my axe, "Long Live d ZULU Kingdom!!!"