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