1-4. Doom to the pretentious drunks of Ephraim,shabby and washed out and seedy—Tipsy, sloppy-fat, beer-bellied parodiesof a proud and handsome past.Watch closely: God has someone picked out,someone tough and strong to flatten them.Like a hailstorm, like a hurricane, like a flash flood,one-handed he’ll throw them to the ground.Samaria, the party hat on Israel’s head,will be knocked off with one blow.It will disappear quicker thana piece of meat tossed to a dog.
5-6. At that time, God-of-the-Angel-Armies will bethe beautiful crown on the head of what’s left of his people:Energy and insights of justice to those who guide and decide,strength and prowess to those who guard and protect.
7-8. These also, the priest and prophet, stagger from drink,weaving, falling-down drunks,Besotted with wine and whiskey,can’t see straight, can’t talk sense.Every table is covered with vomit.They live in vomit.
9-10. “Is that so? And who do you think you are to teach us?Who are you to lord it over us?We’re not babies in diapersto be talked down to by such as you—‘Da, da, da, da,blah, blah, blah, blah.That’s a good little girl,that’s a good little boy.’”
11-12. But that’s exactly how you will be addressed.God will speak to this peopleIn baby talk, one syllable at a time—and he’ll do it through foreign oppressors.He said before, “This is the time and place to rest,to give rest to the weary.This is the place to lay down your burden.”But they won’t listen.