|
My baby surrendered to fate |
|
And I couldn't even say how I felt later on that evening |
|
Stating my name to the officer's aide was in vain |
|
Cause I knew they were out to get me |
|
Place four of five fingers flat on a sticky plastic bat |
|
Scan my blue bloodshot eyes for the history of my trials |
|
When crimes are passionate can love be separate? |
|
En route to my cell I retraced every step |
|
and found a way to redact and retell my story |
|
No evidence and no witness to summon or finesse |
|
I confess, it all sounds unlikely |
|
A sweaty, paranoid palm pressed against a leathered wall |
|
The law in all its flaws, me in an oversized overall |
|
When crimes are passionate can love be separate? |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
I straddled out on the stand |
|
My defense scrawled on my hand |
|
Killed time and time again but then I lost again |
|
When crimes are passionate can love be separate? |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |
|
Baby it's a bad, bad law |
|
It's a bad, bad law, Geronimo |