Oh, say, my little jailbird,
Who sings ‘tweedle’ all day,
Did you mean to kill her husband
And leave him where he lay?
Now, did that make her love you so
To see his blood on you?
And still, you chirp you did not know,
‘It was not me!’ you coo.
Please sing to me a song behind
The bars in which you sit,
And cry you are much too confined
For crimes that were unfit.
‘For I can’t hold a knife,’ you say,
‘Between my feathered wings.’
Found guilty of crimes Mr. Jay?
Or broken wedding rings?