I got some sorry news You lost your spot in line That's what you get for playing your petty crime Now back it up jack Got someone else's fix The teller's obvious he sure ain't your nix You could be doing fine Instead you'll probably be doing time You could throw rocks at the politicians you despise Or go for broke driving ninety towards the county line Sidecar overflow with triple-sec and golden bricks Nix that attitude or you'll be talking to the jury I hear they've got pick up sticks The land is fine So they should've said Yet I find myself between an iron and the sun When the gig was up they had us surrounded "We know what you got in that car" You objected That the truth was much more convoluted than that Didn't matter so you let them take you in again Now I'm minding myself again Yet I'm enshrined in iron out or in