I always heard it as:

I found an old stocking and I filled it with lead
I slung it right over some old woman's head

Along came a copper and asked me my name
I gave him my answer with a bicycle chain

The judge said stand up, boy, and dry off your years
You're going to borstal for twenty odd years

My father he fainted; my mother dropped dead
My little brother shot the judge In the head.

We went to his funeral; we went to his grave
Some people threw flowers but we threw grenades.

Now I've counted the moonbeams; I've counted the stars
I've counted fucking five thousand behind these prison bars

Now if I were the jailer and the jailer was me
I'd open this prison and set myself free

But I'm not the jailer and the jailer's not me
So I can't open this prison and set myself free!