Third Degree

Got me accused of peeping,

I can't see a thing.

Got me accused of petting,

I can't even raise my hand.

R: Bad luck,

Bad luck is killing me.

Well I just can't stand no more of this third

degree.

Got me accused of murder,

I ain't harmed a man.

Got me accused of forgery,

I can't even write my name.

R: Bad luck...

Got me accused of taxes,

I ain't got a dime.

Got me accused of children

And ain't nary one of them was mine.

R: Bad luck...