They are a nation of ninnies,
they don’t know enough to come in out of the rain.
If they had any sense at all, they’d know this;
they would see what’s coming down the road.
How could one soldier chase a thousand enemies off,
or two men run off two thousand,
Unless their Rock had sold them,
unless GOD had given them away?
For their rock is nothing compared to our Rock;
even our enemies say that.
They’re a vine that comes right out of Sodom,
who they are is rooted in Gomorrah;
Their grapes are poison grapes,
their grape-clusters bitter.
Their wine is rattlesnake venom,
mixed with lethal cobra poison.