Mr. Okoro simply sighed, checking his notifications. "Next week, I will do that 'WAP' song. I believe it stands for 'Work And Pray.' It is very important for the youth."
Mr. Okoro tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. He’d heard Titi play this song a thousand times. He liked the guitar—it reminded him of Carlos Santana, the music of his youth. But the lyrics? The lyrics were a problem.
He took a deep breath and began to belt it out, his heavy Nigerian accent turning the sultry R&B track into a rhythmic lecture.
Mr. Okoro didn't blink. He adjusted his cap, ended the recording, and looked at his daughter.
"Too much nakedness in these words," he muttered. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and hit 'Record' on his phone. If the world was going to listen to this rhythm, they needed a version with more... home training.
"I am thinking... about your school fees! I am thinking... did you wash the plates? You are out here dancing like a small breeze, while your math grade is in a terrible state! Wah-wah-wah... wild thoughts!"