CLOCK IS TICKING
(Tempo: Mid-to-uptempo, driving bluesy-pop groove) (Style: Catchy brass stabs, rolling piano, punchy drums, male vocal) (Intro - Driving blues-rock guitar riff with a bouncing bassline) Yeah, look at 'em strutting down the avenue... Thinking they run the world. Three little henchmen in rented suits. Listen up now! (Verse 1) Pete walks in with a bourbon breath and a heavyweight sneer Talking real loud to cover up the trembling fear A barroom brawler with a glass-jaw frame Acting like a king in a rigged-up game Tough on the TV, hollow to the bone A secondhand bully with no kingdom of his own. (Verse 2) Right on his heels comes Stephen with the comic-book glare Twirling an imaginary mustache in the air Wants to be the villain in a blockbuster scene Cruel as a snake, twice as clumsy and mean Dangerous as matches in a toddler’s hand Plotting big schemes that dissolve in the sand! (Chorus) Oh, the clock is ticking, hear the countdown ring! Three little puppets on a fraying string! Pete, Stephen, and Little Marco, too Doing dirty work that the boss tells 'em to. Riding on high while the smoke fills the room— Just three blind mice marching straight to their doom! Yeah, tick-tock, boys, time’s running out on you! (Verse 3) Then comes Little Marco looking back at what he lost Sold out his future never counting the cost Used to have a spark, had a lane of his own Now he’s fetching coffee by the counterfeit throne Nodding his head to every foolish command Just a footnote fading in the shifting sand. (Chorus) 'Cause the clock is ticking, hear the countdown ring! Three little puppets on a fraying string! Pete, Stephen, and Little Marco, too Doing dirty work that the boss tells 'em to. Riding on high while the smoke fills the room— Just three blind mice marching straight to their doom! Yeah, tick-tock, boys, time’s running out on you! (Bridge - Piano breakdown, building tension) They think they’re the brokers, they think they’re the law Blind to the cracks in the empire they saw Corrupt and criminal, cruel to the core Selling out the town from behind a golden door When the boss goes down and the curtain starts to drop There won’t be a single hand to make the tumble stop! No friends left, nowhere to hide— Just washed-up pariahs on the morning tide! (Guitar Solo - Bluesy, melodic, and fast-paced) (Chorus) Oh, the clock is ticking, hear the countdown ring! Three little puppets on a fraying string! Pete, Stephen, and Little Marco, too Doing dirty work that the boss tells 'em to. Riding on high while the smoke fills the room— Just three blind mice marching straight to their doom! (Outro - Upbeat groove, horns kicking in) Yeah, the party’s over, pack it on up! Bottom of the barrel and an empty cup! Pete, you ain’t tough! Stephen, you ain't slick! Marco, you threw it all away too quick! Tick-tock, tick-tock... Time's up, boys! (Final punchy horn hit and drum stop)
