Job.
19.
Den Job ansa back Bildad lidis: 
“How long you guys goin make me suffa, An talk fo try bus me up inside Wit wat you tell me? 
Ten times awready you guys talk bad fo make me come shame, But you guys no shame fo attack me. 
Az not true dat I jam up. But if az was true, Den az ony my problem, not yoas. 
If az true dat you guys tink you mo betta den me, An try fo show proof dat I get da blame fo someting, 
Den you guys gotta know dis: Az God dat judge me da wrong way! Jalike he throw his net ova me. 
“Eh! No matta I yell, ‘He killing me!’ Nobody tell me notting! No matta I yell fo somebody help me, Nobody judge me da right way! 
God block my road, so I no can pass. He make my trail come all dark. 
God rip off all da respeck I get, Jalike he take off da crown from my head. 
God bus me up all ova, till I almos mahke, Jalike he bus up da wall aroun one town! He jam up eryting I stay wait fo, Jalike he pull up da roots from one tree. 
He stay real huhu wit me. He tink bout me jalike I one a da guys dat stay agains him. 
Jalike his guys dat raid come afta me. Jalike I one wall, an dey pile dirt fo come ova me. Jalike dey make camp aroun my tent. 
“God make my braddahs go far from me. Da guys dat was my frenz, dey donno me awready. 
My ohana no stay hea no moa. Da ones I know foget bout me. 
Da peopo dat visit me An da wahines dat work fo me, Da way dey see me, Jalike dey donno me. 
I tell my worka guy fo come, but he no come. No matta I beg him fo come, he still no come. 
My wife no like stay nea me cuz a my haunas breat. My braddahs tink I smell haunas. 
Even da small kids ack jalike I no good. Wen I stan up, dey make fun a me. 
All da guys I wen trus wen we talk befo time, Dey tink I pilau. Da peopo dat I love turn agains me. 
My bones real weak, dey stick to my skin an muscle. I feel jalike I goin mahke, but I no mahke yet! 
“Eh, you guys! You my frenz, aah? Show pity fo me! Show pity cuz God wen wack me! 
God, he stay chase me! So how come you guys go afta me too?! You guys goin eat me up too, o wat?! 
“I like somebody write down wat I tell. Write um inside one book. 
I like somebody write um wit one iron tool On da side a one cliff, An fill up da alphabets wit lead metal, So da words stay foeva! 
Fo me, I know da one dat goin help me fo shua stay alive, He da One goin show proof I neva do notting wrong! An he goin stan up fo me wen time fo da las word! 
An even afta my skin stay all wipe out Wile I still stay alive I goin see God. 
I da one goin see him! I goin see him wit my eyes, An I goin know him! I weak awready, But I stay waiting fo see him! 
“If you guys tell, ‘Us gotta go afta Job an make him lissen! Cuz he da one dat get da blame!’ 
You guys gotta stay sked dat somebody goin kill you guys wit dea sword! Cuz wen you guys stay huhu, God goin use one sword fo punish you! Den you guys goin know God da one dat judge you guys!” 
