Di pipol bi like trees branches wey don dry and skata for groun; wey wimen dey gada take do firewood. So, bikos di pipol nor undastand anytin, God wey kreate dem nor go sorry or pity for dem.
All dis bad tins kon turn di pipol to fool and dem nor get sense again. So, disgrace go follow doz wey dey make juju, bikos di juju na lie-lie and dem nor get life at-all.
But God sey, “My pipol foolish well-well, dem nor know mi at-all. Dem bi shidren wey nor get sense and dem nor dey kwik undastand anytin. Na only bad-bad tins dem sabi do.”
My pipol bi like sheep wey waka lost. Who dey guide dem don make dem lost. Dem dey waka anyhow for di mountins; dey from one hill go anoda. Dem don forget dia place where rest dey.
Just as bird for sky know wen to fly, na so too, dove, swallow and crane know wen to shange pozishon. But my pipol nor gri do wetin mi, wey bi God sey make dem do.
“All of us don break yor law and wi nor gri listin to wetin Yu tok. Wi don sin and na awa sins make Yu dey ponish us so, just as yor savant, Moses rite am for di law.