By Joan Draughon
Sometimes we wind up in some of the wrong places.
Only to see some of the same familiar faces.
Could it be just sheer bad luck
or just trying to figure out how to make a fast buck?
Too late to cry for Momma now.
Got to find God some way, somehow.
When is the nightmare going to be over.
Keep wishing for a four leaf clover.
Can’t run duck or hide
all the turmoil that stays inside.
Guess I’ll call it quits.
Someday perhaps I’ll be legitz.
Can’t make this no revolving door.
The cops don’t even want to pick me up no more.
If only I could make bail
When am I ever going to learn
how to stay out of jail.