The Voice Behind the Sound of Fireboy's "Iseoluwa"
By Olumide Labulo
There’s a moment in adulthood when you realise that life is not just about hard work—it’s about holding your breath, winging it with grace, and hoping your data lasts through one more Zoom call or hoping your sanity isn't one WhatsApp broadcast away from crumbling. In this peculiar dance called survival, many of us have become professional multitaskers: praying while budgeting, smiling through broken dreams, and hoping our destiny doesn’t require another online course. It’s in the middle of this beautiful chaos that a song like "Iseoluwa" speaks deeply, like that one friend who doesn't just "gist" with you but gently slaps your soul with perspective.
"Iseoluwa" is not just a song; it's a soundtrack for anyone who's ever tried to balance ambition with gratitude, and hustle with humility. The artist doesn’t offer a rags-to-riches cliché or a motivational monologue on making it in Nigeria. What we get instead is a mellow, almost meditative flow of thanksgiving laced with wit. It’s smooth, rich, layered, and honest. It's a compendium of melodic reflection of real life and real hustle. While the track might easily slide into the afrobeats playlist you loop every Friday, its message is deeper than the beat lets on.
“Falalà falalà
Make I dey falala falala..."
The lyrics open with an airy chant: a phrase that might sound like the beginning of a festive carol, but here it’s a code for peace of mind. The artist is floating through life, not because it’s perfect, but because he’s made peace with the imperfections. He’s not just surviving; he’s chilling. And in a world where many are struggling to meet daily targets or emotionally recover from life's gbasgbos, that kind of calm confidence deserves its own award.
He acknowledges that his life has been touched by grace. Not the airbrushed, motivational quote kind, but the kind that looks at setbacks and still finds reasons to dance, slow down, breathe, and say, “Thank You.” That’s something we don’t hear often in Nigerian music. Honestly, it isn't just a break from the norm; it's a moment of calm between all the party anthems and heartbreak bangers. And in an era where we’re constantly told to “hustle or die,” this kind of lyrical mindfulness feels revolutionary. Then he thanks his mother for reminding him to stay grounded, and to trust in God rather than overthink himself into a coma. It’s that familiar Nigerian wisdom where parents won’t explain why you should trust God, but will insist that you do, or else. And in that, there’s a message: stop panicking about ten years from now and enjoy the fact that your today didn’t fall apart.
Set to a rhythm that echoes both prayer and praise, the chorus reminds us of our powerlessness in the face of grace: “Ise Oluwa ko s’eni to yẹ” meaning no one understands how God does His things. It’s a humble bow to the divine, a reminder that even when you work like a machine, results are still a gift. No matter how efficient you think you are, there’s always a gap only grace can fill. And this guy knows it. He’s working hard, yes, but he’s looking up—not out of despair, but in faith. He’s not giving motivational speeches; he’s just telling the truth in melody. This is a deeply spiritual hook that doubles as a philosophy for survival. You can almost imagine a stressed-out Lagos commuter nodding along in traffic, eyes on the skies, whispering the words like a mantra. This is gospel-infused afrobeats (highlife) at its most accessible and most relatable.
Then comes the part that deserves a slow clap: “Send me my money, pay me my money, anything else ko ma kan mi.” Here, he becomes a voice for freelancers, creatives, and generally underpaid adults everywhere. It’s a public service announcement and a love letter to bank alerts. If you’ve ever chased an invoice, followed up twice, then fasted by force while waiting for payment or while your client posts pictures of vacation smoothies, this line will hug you emotionally.
The song is also laced with philosophical nuggets that feel like Twitter threads turned into music. One man’s food is another man’s poison, so let him make his own choices. In other words, face your life and leave comparison at the door. He chooses to roll with those who love him genuinely and sends virtual hugs to those who’ve left. He’s not bitter, just busy building a life that makes sense.
Even in the closing verses, he prays that the year doesn’t come with surprise twists, asking for divine protection as he moves through the ups and downs. He wants land and a car (who doesn’t?) but quickly reminds us that nothing is ever enough. There’s always more to chase, but the real success is in learning how to rest, reflect, and be grateful even when your success doesn’t come with Wi-Fi.
By the time the final chorus repeats, you realise this isn’t just a song—it’s a prayer disguised as a groove. It’s the anthem of a generation trying to find God in deadlines, and peace in pressure. "Iseoluwa" is refreshingly honest, deeply reflective, and just the right mix of spiritual depth and everyday humour. In a world full of noise, this song whispers a powerful truth: keep grinding, keep looking up, and don’t forget to give the glory to God especially when the alert finally drops.
Enjoy the full lyrics below:
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