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parade around inside the town
with your fancy hands and big cigars
and your driftin' in just like dead wood
the ground does shake and the temples do awake
as the words go by and finally die...
seems we all can't walk that way
watched you turn the corner
with an ace and a king and a bitter man's laugh
and you walked in just like you owned us all
to your surprise, in the back of the line,
there stood a man with a badge in his hand
and he was asking around about your name
so, you riddled and wormed and rhymed and burned
all the evidence you had in your firm
but the tides turned towards you by the end of the day
later on, in front of the building,
the boys in blue did catch up with you
to ask you questions about fiction and truth
the silence was enough to mutilate
and you could tell by their posture they wouldn't hesitate
to put ya in the back of the car and take you downtown
you denied their pungent allegations with sincere reservations
it wasn't enough to convince them you were innocent
they kept on pushing and pushing and pushing
you kept on defending and defending
and by the 11th hour, you were well spent
they brought forth the paper and the pen
and wanted you to use it then
to confess to a murder you knew you did
you were cold and confused and felt abused
thirsty and hungry and felt misused
but you didn't use that paper and you refused to look at it
you knew if you did, they would see the guilt,
stemming from the murder of a beautiful young girl
who was someone's lovely daughter
the trial came and went one day
and mr. rawlins walked away
this is a story of an utmost tragedy
due to a technicality,
an unjust judge and greedy jury,
that no good son-of-a-bitch is still free
