His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
He's questioning if he should do this already, pocket spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to bang rears,
But he keeps on forgetting who could be around,
For the deed he'll do, he isn't proud
He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
He's stumbling how, the babies are playing now
The clock's run out, time's up, over, blaow!