7 I dey shame well-well and na so-so sick I dey sick.
so I tell di king, “My king, make yu live forever! Wetin nor go make my face look like who dey sick wen e bi sey dem skata and burn di gates for di town where dem beri my grand-grand papa put.”
God hold mi for neck with pawa kon make di klot wey I wear, dirty.
Worm don full my body, sickness don kover my body with dirty; my body don skata with sore.
Bikos my days dey disappear like smoke and my bones dey hot like wetin fire dey burn.
Dem sey, “E get some bad-bad diziz. E nor go ever get up from dat bed!”
At wons God angel kon nak Herod fall for groun, bikos e nor give God glory and plenty worm kon chop en body till e die.