It’s in Revelations One to Twenty-Two:
scorpions and Hydra breathing fire at you,
so mark your foreheads.

Seven golden lampstands to light the fury from the sky, yeah.
I will kill your children; I know your works and labor: they can’t save you.

Throats are parched with smoke from golden censers.
Rivers run with blood, wormwood to quench you from being to nothingness.

Second woe is past—look out! look out!—third one’s coming up, yeah.
Seal up the righteous and screw the wicked over: it’s all over.

It’s a plague of locusts! Hallelujah! It’s raining frogs!
It’s a boulder hailstorm! Hahaha! It’s the wrath of God—damn.

The names are in the book—not yours. Four horsemen ride the range.
Hark! The herald angels’ carnage.
P-p-p-p-pestilence and bloodshed wash away all your mistakes
before they cast your wretched flesh into the fiery lake—and it’s coming!

And it’s a plague of locusts!
It’s a plague of locusts!
It’s a plague of locusts!
It’s the wrath of—!