Job.
30.
“But pipol wey yong pass mi dey laf mi naw! Pipol wey dia papa nor dey yuzful, wey I nor go even allow join di dogs wey dey guide my sheep. 
Dem bi yuzles pipol and dem too weak to do any work for mi. 
Bikos dem poor well-well and honga won kill dem, dem kon dey chop dry rut and dirty for nite. 
Dem dey pul and chop plant for desert; even di small tree wey en rut nor get taste, dem dey chop am too! 
Evribody dey shaut follow dem like tif kon porshu dem komot from di land. 
Dem dey stay for inside hold wey en wota don dry and inside rock too. 
Dem dey bihave and shaut like animals and gada togeda for bush. 
Dem nor get sense or name and dem porshu dem komot di town. 
“Naw, dem dey kom laf and take mi sing. Na mi dem dey take do joke naw. 
Dem dey trit mi like sey I dey smell; dem feel sey dem too good pass mi, so dem kon spit for my face. 
Bikos God don make mi weak and I nor get who go help mi; dem kon use all dia vexnashon take face mi. 
Dem gada kon fight mi; dem drive mi from one place to anoda and dem don agri for wetin dem go do mi. 
Dem follow mi as I dey run kon dey try to distroy mi and e nor get who fit stop dem. 
Dem kon attack mi from difren angle. Dem jump press mi wen I don already fall. 
Fear don chop my full body; my respet don go like wota proof wey breeze blow and my glory don vanish like kloud. 
“I won die naw; bikos na so-so pains full my days. 
Di nite dey make my bones pain mi; di pains dey bite mi and e nor gri stop. 
God hold mi for neck with pawa kon make di klot wey I wear, dirty. 
E trow mi for mud and naw, I bi like dust and ashes. 
God, I dey koll Yu, but Yu nor gri ansa and wen I pray, Yu nor gri listin to my prayers. 
Yu dey do mi anyhow; Yu dey ponish mi with all yor pawa. 
Yu allow breeze blow mi go; Yu trow mi up-and-down for inside strong breeze. 
I know sey Yu dey karry mi go where I go for die; di place wey Yu keep for evribody. 
“True-true, nobody go fight poor pesin, wen e kry sey make dem help am from en trobol. 
Abi I nor follow pipol wey dey trobol kry kon sorry for pipol wey nor get at-all? 
Na happiness and lite I dey hope for, but na trobol and darkness I kom get. 
Pain and worry don skata my body; I dey sofa evriday. 
I just dey waka for darkness and I nor dey si lite at-all. I dey beg for help for where crowd Gad put. 
I don kry sotey my vois don krack and my neck don long like Ostrich own. 
My skin don black finish and strong fever dey katch mi naw. 
I nor fit remember di last time wen I hear betta music, bikos na only song wey go make mi mourn and kry, naim dem dey play. 
