There’s a cup in His hand, full of burnin’ red wine, Mixed and strong, been settin’ a long time. He pours it down, the wicked gotta drink, To the very last drop — to the bitter dregs. You wicked, don’t you raise your crown too high, Don’t plot in secret with a haughty eye. You think you climbed up by your own, But the Lord gonna have you overthrown. We thank You, Lord, with trembling voice, Your Name is near, and we rejoice. You said, “I judge when the time is right,” The world may shake, but we trust in Your light. You wicked, don’t you raise your crown too high, Don’t plot in secret with a haughty eye. You think you climbed up by your own, But the Lord gonna have you overthrown. We’ll sing to the God of Jacob, yes we will, He breaks the proud on judgment hill. He lifts the low and shames the bold, And turns hot pride into bitter cold. Don’t you raise that crown too high, Don’t you lie with a lifted eye. Strength don’t rise from your own hand, But from the Prince of Peace’s command. He pours the wine, the righteous taste, While the wicked drink the bitter waste. Ain’t no pride on Judgment Day, All must bow, there’s no escape. The wicked break, their strength is gone, But for the humble, grace lives on. Ain’t no pride on Judgment Day… only truth remains Ain’t no pride on Judgment Day… no lies, no chains
