If you’ve ever sat in a darkened theater and felt that rhythmic, pulsating "pop, six, squish" start to vibrate in your chest, you know exactly what’s happening. We’re talking about "Cell Block Tango." Most people searching for He Had It Coming lyrics are actually looking for the gritty, unapologetic confessions of the six merry murderesses of the Cook County Jail. It’s the standout moment in Kander and Ebb’s Chicago, a musical that basically predicted our current obsession with true crime and celebrity "clout" long before those terms even existed.
The song is a masterpiece of dark humor. It’s catchy. It’s violent. But mostly, it’s a brilliant piece of character writing that uses a recurring hook to justify some pretty questionable choices.
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What those He Had It Coming lyrics are actually telling us
Let’s get the terminology straight first. While fans often search for "They Had It Coming," the official title is "Cell Block Tango." The phrase "He had it coming" acts as the moral (or immoral) backbone of the entire number. It’s a defense mechanism set to music. When Liz, Annie, June, Hunyak, Velma, and Mona step into the spotlight, they isn't just singing; they're testifying to the audience, trying to win a "not guilty" verdict from the front row.
Each verse is a distinct story. You’ve got the guy who won't stop chewing gum—pop. The guy who has six wives—six. The one who "ran into" a knife ten times—squish. It’s absurd. It’s funny because of how petty the motivations seem on the surface, yet the lyrics tap into a very real, very human sense of righteous indignation. You’ve probably had a coworker or a partner who did something so annoying you thought, even for a split second, "I could just..." That’s the hook. That’s why it resonates.
Bob Fosse’s original choreography emphasized this. The women aren't portrayed as monsters; they're portrayed as survivors of a specific kind of 1920s urban chaos. They use the lyrics to flip the script. In their minds, they aren't the villains. They're the victims of "artistic differences" or "single-blind" betrayal.
The stories behind the six merry murderesses
Most people remember the "pop, six, squish" but forget the specific narratives that make the He Had It Coming lyrics so biting. Take Liz’s story. Bernie. He liked to explode gum bubbles. It’s such a trivial thing to kill someone over, which is exactly why the lyrics work. It highlights the "short fuse" nature of the characters. Then you have Annie and Ezekiel. He told her he was single, but it turned out he had six wives. "One of those Mormons," she says. It’s a jab at the social mores of the time, wrapped in a jaunty jazz rhythm.
Then there’s the Hungarian girl, Hunyak. Her part of the song is the only one that feels genuinely tragic. She speaks in Hungarian, and the only thing she says in English is "not guilty." Unlike the others, who boast about their crimes with a wink and a nod, Hunyak is likely innocent. In the stage production, her "He had it coming" is different—it’s forced, or perhaps she doesn't even say it. She’s the one who eventually hangs, proving that in the world of Chicago, the lyrics aren't about truth; they're about how well you can sell your story.
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Why the lyrics evolved from stage to screen
If you grew up watching the 2002 Rob Marshall film starring Catherine Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah, the lyrics might feel slightly different than the 1975 Broadway original. In the movie, the editing is frantic and cinematic. The "He had it coming" refrain becomes a cinematic montage. On stage, it’s more static, more like a police lineup.
The songwriting team of John Kander and Fred Ebb were geniuses at "concept musicals." They didn't just want a song that moved the plot forward. They wanted a song that commented on the nature of justice. By repeating the phrase "he only had himself to blame," they’re poking fun at the legal loopholes of the Prohibition era. If you could prove your husband was a "no-good" or a "bum," a Chicago jury in the 1920s might actually let you go. It was called the "unwritten law."
Honestly, it’s a bit scary how relevant it still feels. We still love a "good" villain. We still love a woman who takes charge of her own narrative, even if that narrative involves a little bit of arsenic or a revolver.
The technical brilliance of the rhythm
Musically, the song is built on a tango. Why a tango? Because a tango is a dance of power. It’s a push and pull. It’s aggressive. It’s sexy. The lyrics "if you’d have been there, if you’d have heard it" are delivered with a staccato precision that mimics the heartbeat of someone under pressure.
- The "Pop": Represents the irritation of mundane life.
- The "Six": Represents betrayal and the sheer scale of deception.
- The "Squish": The physical messiness of their "accidents."
- The "Uh-uh": The denial that everyone knows is a lie.
- The "Cicero": A nod to the real-life Chicago suburb where a lot of Mob activity happened.
- The "Lipschitz": A hilarious rhyming play on a name that sounds like a certain expletive.
When you look at the He Had It Coming lyrics, you see a rhyming scheme that’s surprisingly sophisticated. Ebb was a master of the "list song," and here he lists grievances instead of items. The repetition of "you would have done the same" is a direct challenge to the listener. It’s gaslighting set to a 4/4 beat. It works because, deep down, we kind of like being challenged by them.
Real history hidden in the music
Believe it or not, Chicago is based on real people. Maurine Dallas Watkins was a reporter who covered the trials of Beulah Annan and Belva Gaertner for the Chicago Tribune. These women were the inspirations for Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly. The lyrics in "Cell Block Tango" aren't just fantasy; they reflect the sensationalized "Murderess Row" that gripped the public imagination in 1924.
The public back then was obsessed with these "stylish" killers. They were celebrities. The lyrics "I guess you can say we had an artistic difference" is a direct reference to how these women were coached by their lawyers to look pathetic or misunderstood. It’s a satire of the legal system that is as sharp today as it was fifty years ago.
How to use these lyrics for your own performance
If you’re a theater student or a cabaret performer looking to tackle these lyrics, you’ve got to lean into the subtext. It’s not about singing perfectly. It’s about the "tell." Every woman in that jail has a tell—a moment where her story doesn't quite add up.
Don't just sing the words. Live the justification. When you say "he ran into my knife," you have to believe it was his fault for being in the way. That’s the secret to making the He Had It Coming lyrics land. If the performer doesn't believe their own lie, the audience won't enjoy the ride.
It’s also worth noting the vocal range. It’s written mostly for altos and mezzo-sopranos, staying in a lower, throatier register to emphasize the "gritty" jailhouse atmosphere. If you're practicing, focus on the diction. Those "P" and "T" sounds at the end of words need to be sharp. They are the "shots" in the dark.
The lasting legacy of "He Had It Coming"
Why do we still care? Why is this song a staple of drag shows, high school productions (the "clean" versions, anyway), and karaoke nights? It’s because it’s a power fantasy. It’s about taking the things that annoy us or hurt us and finding a way to laugh—and maybe scream—about them.
The lyrics give a voice to the marginalized, even if that voice is being used to admit to a felony. It’s the ultimate "girl boss" anthem before that phrase became a cliché. It’s messy, it’s complicated, and it’s unapologetically loud.
If you’re digging through the lyrics today, pay attention to the silence between the lines. The moments where the music stops and the women just talk. That’s where the real character work happens. It’s a reminder that even in a world of glitz and "all that jazz," the truth is usually a lot more complicated—and a lot more interesting—than a simple "not guilty" plea.
To really master the impact of this song, start by listening to the 1975 original cast recording with Chita Rivera. You'll hear a different kind of edge there—a raw, vaudevillian cynicism that sets the stage for everything that came after. Then, compare it to the 1996 revival with Bebe Neuwirth. You'll see how the lyrics can be interpreted as either a joke or a threat, depending on the tilt of a hat.
Take a look at the rhythmic patterns in the "Squish" verse. Try to recite the lyrics without the music. If you can make the story sound believable as a spoken monologue, you’ve captured the essence of what Kander and Ebb were trying to do. They weren't just writing a song; they were writing six mini-plays disguised as a showstopper. That is the true power of the "Cell Block Tango."
Check out the original 1924 news clippings about the "Cook County" murders if you want to see just how close the lyrics stayed to the bizarre reality of the time. You might find that the real stories are even weirder than the musical. Read up on Beulah Annan's "cocktail" defense or the way the press treated Belva Gaertner's "loss of memory." It adds a whole new layer of irony to every "uh-uh" and "not guilty" you hear in the track.