Prison cells, prisons cells
for griftin’ crimes of the shifty.
Keys clink-clink in lock’s chink.
Soon for their griftin’ cons pay.

Grifters perp talk, grifters perp walk
as they go single file
to the courtroom, where they’ll get the business.
They got nabbed quick, so they’re frantic
and scowl rather than smile.
They got cornered and ended up here:

Prison cells fit them well;
it’s clinkin’ time for the shifty.
There, I think: to the clink;
soon for their griftin’ they’ll pay.

Shitty eats nights, at morning light—
food’s the worst that they’ve seen.
Even though it’s bad, there’s such small measures.
It’s a gross lunch; here there’s no brunch,
just a graybar buffet.
Knuckle sandwich always to be feared.

Prison cells (for cons, no Santa Claus),
prison cells (lawyers a losing cause).
It’s in-clink time for the grifty.
In the clink—it’s quite a while they’re there—
where it stinks (extremely fetid air).
Moods, like the clothing, are gray.

Grifters perp talk, grifters perp walk (prison cells)
as they go single file into cells
But all too often there is some shivness
(it’s stickin’ time—don’t fell nifty).
They got stabbed quick, often bad sticks (shivving stings!)
’cause some inmate got riled (living things)
So warden cancels the Christmas play.