When I compose a melody
The rhythmic imprint of mbalax,
Our music,
Courses through my mind.
When I play my guitar
In my mind's eye I see
Now the kora,
Now the xalam.
And whenever I lift my voice to sing
The image before me is of one person only:
Youssou Madjigune.

Who is Madjigune?
He's the one who cleared the way.
Who opened the road large for all of us,
Calling us toward the horizon.

When you go abroad you'll hear him called Youssou.
Here at home the boys will holler 'Hey, You!'
He collected the gold record
We were praying for
So we all exclaimed 'Madjigune, go ahead!'
Mbalax is ours,
We own it.
Let's take good care of it.
If we do, it will surely hold its own in the world.

Adja Ndeye Sokhna Mboup is your mother.
El-Hadj Elimane Ndour is your father.
You're Mamy's husband and
Bouba's brother.

Oh, Youssou Madjigune,
I sing your good name.

May God protect you.
Protect you for our sake.
That's what we're praying for.
'Madjigune, go ahead!'

You've done so much to help your friends.
I'm sure God will reward you for that.

What we own
Is the sound of the sabar.
Kit drums we borrowed from abroad.
The electric guitar is not really of our tradition.
What we own is the sound of the xalam.

When I compose a melody
The rhythmic imprint of mbalax,
Our music,
Courses through my mind.
When I play my guitar
In my mind's eye I see
Now the kora,
Now the xalam.
And whenever I lift my voice to sing
The image before me is of one person only:
Youssou Madjigune.

'Madjigune, go ahead!'
'Youssou Madjigune, go ahead!'
'Madjigune, go ahead!'
'Youssou Madjigune, go ahead!'