My ancient predilections have been put to the sword
The sherriff of Shit Creek has posted a reward
On the man who says he's sick of singing praises to the Lord
In time to face the music
The stage is set to revisit regret
Convalescing couplets and minor frets
While the paralytic punters are placing their bets
On whose gonna face the music
The doggerel & apparel of the supposed opposition
Who will insist on signalling each change in their position
As they prance about in spandex while playing with precision
And leering as they face the music
Crowd controllin' with that rocksteady beat
You can tell by their expressions and the way
they move their feet
A coda made to order just waiting to repeat
That it's time to face the music