On this bed I hum a tune that makes no sound,
I tap my feet along on this concrete ground,
A tip top, my fingers tap, a flip flop, my tongue goes clop,
This rhythm makes beat, this beat ain't rap,
These are the jail house blues...
Three square meals a day, two are cold, one is hot,
A snip snap, my cup goes clap, a bang bong, my head does not,
I do push ups now, up, down, one, two, three, four,
I make my bed once again, I wait for them to open the door,
Here i bust my Rock N Roll, but music this is not,
These are the jail house blues...
Here you must stay active, or you'll get fat,
You do something wrong, the hole you will go, wacha think about that,
This is better than a five-star motel if you are broke,
You can sleep or watch TV, Too bad you cannot smoke,
Spit, shave, and shower, do whatever to pass the time,
Now if you want to hear a Country song it'll cost a dime,
Which that you will not have because country forgets to rhyme,
These are the jail house blues,
To be free, anything I will give, Too bad i have nothing,
Sleep or walk, tap or talk, time keeps passing,
This is not the place to be, unless you like to not be free,
Scrub the toilet, mop the floor, eat some food there is no fee,
Sometimes you want to scream, like singing Heavy Metal,
But like I said, music this is not,
These are the jail house blues...
The cloths you wear are colored orange, and tell of where you lay your head,
Roommates you have, sometimes they join in song, but keep them up, they'll wish you dead,
Soul, Jazz, Punk or Hip-Hop, you make it up, but here you will always know,
The jail house blues...
