When those thugs try to knife me in the back,make them look foolish.Frustrate all thosewho are plotting my downfall.Make them like cinders in a high wind,with God’s angel working the bellows.Make their road lightless and mud-slick,with God’s angel on their tails.Out of sheer cussedness they set a trap to catch me;for no good reason they dug a ditch to stop me.Surprise them with your ambush—catch them in the very trap they set,the disaster they planned for me.