Oh, the age of the inmates, I remember quite freelyNo younger than twelve, no older than seventeenThrown in like bandits, cast off like criminalsInside the grounds, round the walls, a red wingFrom the dirty old mess hall, you march to the brick wallToo weary to talk and too tired to singguitar soloOh, it's all afternoon, you remember your hometownInside the grounds, round the walls, a red wingOh, the gates are cast iron and the walls are barbed wireStay far from the fence with electricity stainedAnd it's to keep down your head and stay in your numberOn the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wingOh, it's fare thee well to the deep hollow dungeonFarewell to the boardwalk that takes you to the screenAnd farewell to the minutes they threaten you with itInside the grounds, round the walls, a red wingIt's many a guard that stands around smilingHolding his club like he was a kingHoping to get you behind the wood-pile endInside the grounds, round the walls, a red wingThe night aimed shadows through the crossbar windowsAnd the wind punched hard to make the wall siding singIt's many a night I pretended to be sleepingOn the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wingAs the rain rattled heavy on the bunkhouse shinglesAnd the sounds in the night that make my ears ringTell the keys of the guards to click the tune of the morningOn the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wingOh, some of us will end up in St. Cloud PrisonAnd some of us will wind up to be lawyersAnd thingsAnd some of us will stand to meet you on your crossroadsFrom inside the grounds, round the walls, a red wingFrom the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wingFrom the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wingFrom the inside grounds, round the walls, a red wing