Wen di time don rish for di evening sakrifice, I get up from where I sidan, but I still wear my tear-tear klot kon knee down, stresh my hand to di Oga my God kon pray.
Human being bi like ordinary dirty wey breeze dey blow and pipol wey feel sey dem strong, nor get pawa at-all. If yu go measure dem for skale, all of dem togeda nor heavy rish air.
So I pray to God: “My Oga God wey dey rule all of us; yor judgement na true and Yu dey si wetin pipol dey tink for dia heart. Make Yu fight dis pipol for mi, bikos my life dey yor hand.”