Written by: John Trusty


Five teenaged lads late on Christmas Eve,
quit playing cards and took their leave.
Got into a car and off we drove
to a hamburger joint with a greasy stove.

After a bowl of chili, one got sick.
The owner yelled out and three left quick.
After he messed the bathroom sink and floor,
I carried the fifth out the back alley door.

The police were waiting when we hit the curb,
booked for underage drinking in their little burb.
They put us in a klink called the Homewood jail,
the accommodations had a bible for those who fail.

They turned out the lights and the locks went klank,
tried looking around but the cells were dark and dank.
There wasn’t a mattress on the steel strapped bunks,
we resigned ourselves to our increasing mental funks.

No one tried to be brave; no one tried to be proud,
time for soul searching and we began crying out loud.
Our demeanor changed after that minor crime,
not one of us in 50 yrs has done anymore time. 

For the BEHIND BARS BLUES contest