It was real cloak-and-dagger stuff,
Behind closed doors
And drawn blinds.
I smelled a rat.
My ears were burning.
O to be a fly on the wall;
It was all as clear as mud.
I had to ferret it out,
Nip it in the bud,
Put paid to it.
But walls have ears,
And a little bird told me;
Spilled the beans,
Let the cat out of the bag
And among the pigeons.
Washed the dirty linen in public.
Suddenly all was clear as crystal.
Then it was a piece of cake
To turn the tables,
Upset the applecart,
Get my act together,
Call their bluff,
Haul them over the coals,
Cook their goose,
Settle their hash,
Put them through the mill,
Make mincemeat of them
And polish them off!