Cry-Cry Song for di Princes of Israel
Na funeral song for Judah kings, dem tell am like lioness wey her two pikin lion, dem trap each one put for cage, and like vine wey dem uproot come burn until no branch remain wey strong reach to make scepter. Nothing dey promise for the end. E still remain as lament.
19 1"As for you, take up cry-cry song for di princes of Israel, 2and talk say: Wetin your mama be? Na lioness. For inside lions she lie down, for inside young lions she raise her pikin dem. a a v2 Di lioness na Judah royal house, and her pikin dem na her kings — dis whole chapter na mourning song wey dey paint di fall of Judah last rulers. 3She raise one of her pikin, and he turn young lion. He learn how to tear di animal wey he catch; he chop men. 4Di nations hear about am; dem catch am for their pit, and dem drag am go with hooks to di land of Egypt. 5Wen she see say she don wait for nothing, say her hope don loss, she take another one of her pikin and make am young lion. 6He waka up and down among di lions; he turn young lion. He learn how to tear di animal wey he catch; he chop men. 7He break down their strong places and turn their cities to bush. Di land and everybody wey dey live inside am fear wen dem hear di sound of im roaring. 8Den di nations come against am from all di provinces wey dey around; dem spread their net on top am, and dem catch am for their pit. 9With hooks dem put am inside cage and carry am go meet di king of Babylon. Dem carry am go inside di strong places, so dat nobody go hear im voice again for di mountains of Israel. 10Your mama be like vine for your vineyard, wey dem plant for di waterside, wey dey bear plenty fruit and full with branches becos of plenty water. 11E get strong branches wey fit be scepter for rulers. E rise high among di thick branches, and person fit see am from far becos of how e tall among di plenty branches. 12But dem pull am komot with vex and throway am for ground; di east wind dry up im fruit. Dem strip im strong branches and dem dry up; fire chop dem finish. 13Now dem don plant am for di wilderness, for dry and thirsty land. 14Fire don burst komot from im stem and chop im branches and im fruit finish, so dat no strong branch remain inside am, no scepter for ruling. Dis na cry-cry song, and e don turn cry-cry song." b b v14 Di last line mean say dis poem, wey dem write as prophecy, don come true now and dem dey sing am as real funeral song.
