Job.
3.
As last, Job kon tok and e curse di day wey dem born am. 
Job kon sey, 
“Make di day wey my mama born mi disappear and make di nite wey e get my belle, vanish! 
Make di day turn to darkness. God! Make Yu nor remember dat day again; nor let lite shine put again. 
Make darkness and deat shadow kover am! Make betta kloud dey on-top am; make darkness kover en lite. 
Make dat nite komot from kalendar; make dem nor kount am join di days and monts for di year again. 
Make di nite empty and e nor go get joy again. 
Make di pipol wey dey curse day, curse am! Make di pipol wey dey curse wota juju, curse am too. 
Make en morning star remain darkness. Even wen e find lite, make e nor si am and make en day nor break. 
Make Yu curse di day wey my mama born mi, bikos na-im make mi dey face all dis trobol so o-o. 
“Wetin make mi nor die before my mama born mi? Or why I nor die as I just kom out from my mama belle? 
Wetin make my mama karry mi for en lap? Why my mama feed mi with en breast? 
If to sey I die dat time, I for dey rest naw; 
with kings and govnors wey bin build big-big house for demsef for dis eart. 
I for dey rest with prince wey get gold and wey silva full dia palis. 
Why dem nor beri mi like pikin wey die before dem born am? Like pikin wey nor live to si di lite? 
Bikos for grave, wiked pipol nor fit do evil and evribody wey dey der, dey rest. 
Even di pesin wey dey prison before, dey rest, bikos nobody dey opress am for der. 
Evribody dey der, both small and big and even savants dey free from dia oga. 
“Wetin make God dey give lite to pesin wey dey sofa? Why E dey give life to doz wey dey face trobol? 
Dem dey find deat, but dem nor dey si am; dem dey find am pass wetin dey precious. 
Dem dey-dey happy wen dem die go dia grave. 
Wetin God give lite to doz wey nor get tumoro, pipol wey God surround with wahala? 
Instead make I chop, I dey kry and my pain dey pour kom out like wota. 
And naw, evritin wey I dey fear, don dey happen to mi so o-o. 
I nor get peace or rest and my trobol nor gri end.” 
