Bonnie Parker

You’ve read the story of Jesse James—Of how he lived and died;If you’re still in needOf something to readHere’s the story of Bonnie and Clyde.Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang.I’m sure you all have readHow they rob and stealAnd those who squealAre usually found dying or dead.There’s lots of untruths to these write-ups;They’re not so ruthless as that;Their nature is raw;They hate the law—The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.They call them cold-blooded killers;They say they are heartless and mean;But I say this with pride,That I once knew ClydeWhen he was honest and upright and clean.But the laws fooled around,Kept taking him downAnd locking him up in a cell,Till he said to me,“I’ll never be free,So I’ll meet a few of them in hell.”The road was so dimly lighted;There were no highway signs to guide;But they made up their mindsIf all roads were blind,They wouldn’t give up till they died.The road gets dimmer and dimmer;Sometimes you can hardly see;But it’s fight, man to man,And do all you can,For they know they can never be free.From heart-break some people have suffered;From weariness some people have died;But take it all in all,Our troubles are smallTill we get like Bonnie and Clyde.If a policeman is killed in Dallas,And they have no clue or guide;If they can’t find a fiend,They just wipe their slate cleanAnd hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.There’s two crimes committed in AmericaNot accredited to the Barrow mob;They had no handIn the kidnap demand,Nor the Kansas City Depot job.A newsboy once said to his buddy:“I wish old Clyde would get jumped;In these awful hard timesWe’d make a few dimesIf five or six cops would get bumped.”The police haven’t got the report yet,But Clyde called me up today;He said, “Don’t start any fights—We aren’t working nights—We’re joining the NRA.”From Irving to West Dallas viaductIs known as the Great Divide,Where the women are kin,And the men are men,And they won’t “stool” on Bonnie and Clyde.If they try to act like citizensAnd rent them a nice little flat,About the third nightThey’re invited to fightBy a sub-gun’s rat-tat-tat.They don’t think they’re too smart or desperate,They know that the law always wins;They’ve been shot at before,But they do not ignoreThat death is the wages of sin.Some day they’ll go down together;They’ll bury them side by side;To few it’ll be grief—To the law a relief—But it’s death for Bonnie and Clyde.