Jeremiah 12

12 ¹You dey righteous, my Papa, anytime wey I bring my matter come before you; but still I wan talk with you about your judgments. Why di way of di wicked people dey prosper? Why all di people wey full of betrayal dey live for ease? ²You plant dem, and dem take root; dem dey grow and dey bear fruit. You dey near for dem mouth but you far from dem heart. ³But you, my Papa, know me; you see me, and you dey test my heart towards you. Drag dem comot like sheep wey dem wan slaughter, and put dem for one side for di day of slaughter. ⁴How long di land go dey mourn and di grass of every field go dey wither? Bicos of di evil of di people wey dey live inside am, di animals and di birds don comot finish—bicos di people dey talk say, “E no go see wetin go happen to us.”

Di Papa Answer Jeremiah

⁵If you don race with people wey dey run for foot and dem tire you, how you go take compete with horses? If you fall for peaceful land, how you go take do for di thick bush of Jordan? ⁶Bicos even your brothers and your papa house—even dem don betray you; even dem don cry out loud against you. No trust dem, even as dem dey talk sweet words give you. ⁷I don forsake my house, I don abandon my heritage; I don give di one wey my heart love enter di hand of her enemies. ^a a v7 Even as E dey hand im people over, our Papa dey grieve like person wey dey give up di love of im own heart — judgment wey cost di Papa everything. ⁸My heritage don turn to me like lion for di forest; she don roar against me, so I don turn against her. ⁹My heritage don be like speckled bird of prey to me, wey odda birds of prey dey circle round am for every side? Go, gather all di wild animals; bring dem make dem come chop am. ¹⁰Plenty shepherds don spoil my vineyard; dem don trample my portion for ground; dem don turn my sweet portion to desolate wilderness. ¹¹Dem don make am desolate; e desolate, e dey mourn before me. Di whole land don lay waste, but nobody dey take am to heart. ¹²For all di bare hills for di wilderness di destroyers don come, bicos my sword dey chop from one end of di land reach di odda end; nobody dey safe. ¹³Dem don plant wheat but dem harvest thorns; dem don tire demself for nothing. Make shame catch una bicos of una harvest, bicos of my anger wey dey burn.

¹⁴Na dis wetin our Papa talk: About all my evil neighbours wey seize di inheritance wey I give my people Israel—I go uproot dem from dem land, and I go uproot Judah house from among dem. ¹⁵After I don uproot dem, I go return, my belle go dey pain me for dem, and I go bring each one back to im inheritance, each one to im land.

¹⁶If dem truly learn my people ways—swear by my name, ‘As sure as your Papa dey live,’ just as dem teach my people to swear by Baal—den dem go build dem up among my people. ¹⁷But any nation wey no go listen, I go completely uproot am and destroy am, na so your Papa talk.