I haven't seen a cop this bad
Since Guttenburgs' Mahoney
The sheriffs and the sandwiches
Are both filled with bologna
There's the cold hard metal beds
Next to the cold hard metal crapper
And the cold hard metal bars
Next to the prosthetic-legged rapper
From the top of the Zephyr
To the bottom of the barrel
In monochromatic and itchy ill fitting apparel
There's a trainee and a geezer
And an ugly singing horde
There's a dozen of us harmonizing to another inmates' snore
There's a short little gangsta using a pen for a knife
As a Jon Gosselin doppelganger
Welcomes me to my new life
His wife can't take care of their dog
So laugh at him in Walgreens
And I flip him off just like a Pog
And now I suppose you know how the story goes
Of the Jazzland Bandits drinking Cobras and Lokos
And now I suppose you know how the story goes
Of those Jazzland Bandits when they're drinking those
Four Lokos