Mohamed Adan Dahir
(Verse 1)
Ayeyo iyo Aabo, wallahi hear me out,
You love your kids, but the silence is loud.
You bring ‘em to the West, but don’t guide the way,
Then wonder why they stray and start moving grey.
You think they’re fine, but inside they’re hurtin’,
No hugs, no talks, just fear and burden.
You shout when they fall, but don’t teach when they break,
Then you ask why they lie, why they move fake.
Kids ain’t robots, they feel that pain,
When you choose shame over love—it leaves a stain.
You want strong youth? Then give ‘em strength,
Don’t beat them down, show love at length.
(Chorus)
Don’t just scream—speak.
Don’t just punish—teach.
They need your time more than gifts or gold,
They need your arms when the nights get cold.
Talk to your kids, don’t push ‘em away,
That silence is where the streets will prey.
(Verse 2)
A Somali child in the streets of London,
Hears more hate than he hears love from someone.
He’s got dreams, but he’s scared to talk,
So he walks with the wrong ones who run that walk.
You want him to pray—but you don’t explain,
You just beat the fear in and expect no pain.
You want her to stay pure, but don’t give her worth,
Just threats and pressure from the day of birth.
You say "honor," but don’t show grace,
You want angels, but give ‘em no space.
You compare them to others, call them disgrace,
But never ask why they feel out of place.
(Bridge)
I know it’s hard—you came from war,
But don’t bring that war through your front door.
Heal yourself, so your kids grow whole,
Break that cycle—that’s how you control.
(Verse 3)
I’ve walked the road you’re tryna save them from,
Felt the cold when love was gone.
I was that boy who needed a hug,
But got silence, fear, and a slap, not love.
Now I speak to you from scars, not hate,
It’s not too late—change that fate.
Raise your sons with honor, not fear,
Raise your daughters with pride, not tears.
(Outro)
So listen, ayeeyo, aabo, hoyo, adeer—
Talk to your kids before they disappear.
Before the streets teach what you never said,
Before they end up lost or dead.
Mohamed Adan Dahir, I’ve been through that flame,
Now I teach others to avoid that pain.
From Somaliland roots to the London cold—
It’s time we heal… and break that mold.
Mohamed
