My baby surrendered to fate, and I couldn't even say how I felt later on that evening.
Stating my name to the officers, it wasn't vain cause I knew they were out to get me.
Placed four or five fingers flat on a sticky plastic bag, and scanned my blue bloodshot eyes for the history of my trials.
When crimes are passionate, can love be separate?
To myself, I retraced every step and found a way to redact and retell my story.
No evidence and no witness to summon a finesse, I confess it all sounds unlikely.
A sweaty paranoid palm, pressed against a leather wall.
The law and all is flawed, meaning it oversized overall.
When crimes are passionate, can love be separate?
Baby, it's a bad, bad law, it's a bad, bad law, you know what I mean.
I straddled out on the stand, my defense called on my hand.
Killed time and time again, but then I lost again.
When crimes are passionate, can love be separate?
Baby, it's a bad, bad law, it's a bad, bad law, Geronimo.
Baby, it's a bad, bad law, it's a bad, bad law, Geronimo.
Baby, it's a bad, bad law, it's a bad, bad law, Geronimo.
Baby, it's a bad, bad law, it's a bad, bad law, Geronimo.