As you swing your hoe in the hot sunshine

And the boss man on horseback shouts down the line:

"All the cotton belongs to Texas, boys,
And all the weeds belong to you!"

It's my hope you don't get too blue

As you think about the 20 years

The jury gave to you.

And as you think about the DA's offer of probation; Which I strongly urged you to take.

Which you rejected out of hand, because, you said, your homies in the jail knew more than I did,

And I was just a fake.

My dear client, at least you have this bit of luck, so please do not feel so low:

At least I'm not the sort of defense lawyer who keeps reminding you:

"I told you so!"

I tried to send a stiletto,
but it set off the metal detector.
So I tried to smuggle a cell phone,
which was caught by the strip search inspector.
You'll have to make your own shank
from what you can get with the paltry amount
That I'm sending by Western Union
to put in your commissary account.
Meanwhile, I'm ever so lonely;
I can't manage to keep a dry eye.
So while you're doing your 20
I've moved in with the strip-search guy.

Best regards.

Scott, I think you have penned (pun intended) our first hit song!