christmas in prison John Prine
[G]It was Christmas in Prison and the [C]food was real good,
We had [G]turkey and pistols carved out of [D]wood.
And I [G]dream of her always even [C]when I don't dream,
Her [G]name's on my tongue, and her[D] blood's in m[G]y strain(?).
[D]Wait a[C]while Eternit[G]y, [C]ol' Mother Natures [G]got nothing on [D]me,
[G]Come to me, run to me, [C]come to me now,
We're [G]rolling my sweatheart, were [D]flowing, by [G]God.
She reminds me of a chess game with someone I admire,
Or a picnic in the rain after a prairie fire,
And her heart is as big as this whole ***damn jail,
She's sweeter than saccarin at a drug store sale.
The searchlight in the big yard swings round with the gun,
And spotlights the snowflakes like the dust in the sun.
It's Christmas in Prison, there'll be music tonight,
I'll probably get homesick, I love you, goodnight.
Rating click stars to rate
You need to log in to post comments
"Her name's on my tongue, and her blood's in my strain(?)"
"Strain" should be corrected to "stream"
Other than that, good job and thanks for posting this!
I had the pleasure of meeting John Prine a few weeks ago. Great guy!