They’re coming for you, man; that’s the plan.
They’re at your door; you’re on the floor,
Sore from trying to bide your time and hide,
But it’ll do no good; you’ve stood your ground
For the last time; you hear the clock chime
And you know, don’t you, the rhythm and rhyme
Of your sordid, self-centered ways have come
To the end of their days; and what can you say?
You pass thru life like a crass ass and expect
Everyone to throw logic into the wind and bend
To your every whim, even though in the main
You’re quite insane… But it’s over now, boy!
You’ll no longer toy with other precious lives
To satisfy your muck and mire desires, oh no!
They’re here for you now; you may as well bow
To the hand of Fate finally slammed down now
To satiate justice by the compass of heaven,
And how luscious it is, so sweet with every
Beat of your pounding heart — no good part —
Ah! you weren’t smart enough to see it coming,
Looming on the horizon, but you’ll agonize in
Crazed, bull-headed sin now, so crawl on the
Floor, but they’re at the door to even the score!
Note: “Titty Baby” is a derogatory term used for someone, usually an adult male, who’s “still on the tit,” that is, coddled and pampered (usually by his mamma); an adolescent-type man, who usually has to have his way in life and throws a tantrum if he doesn’t get what he wants; a “mamma’s boy.”