I found an old stocking And filled it with lead.
I hit an old lady, right over the head.

Along came a copper, and asked me my name.
I gave him the answer, With a bicycle chain.

The Judge said "sit down, boy, and dry up your tears.
you're going to borstal, for 2 or 3 years."

My mother was crying; my father dropped dead.
My little kid brother shot the judge in the head.

There's bars on the windows; there's bars on the doors,
And just for precaution, there's bars on the floors.

I counted the moonbeams; I counted the stars.
I counted four thousand, of those borstal bars.

If I was the Jailer, and the jailer was me,
I'd open those doors and set myself free.

But I'm not the jailer, and the jailer ain't me,
so I just count those bars until I'm set free.