She had a chalk-white face and dandelion hair T’was a wisp of a woman who lived in the tenement upstairs Where the walls were so thin You could hear her bleedin’
He was mountain of a man that stunk o’ Brewdog ale With a fist he swung like a curved-claw hammer on a nail With all of his might Most every night
Then it came one day on a cold day in July A time to choose to either live or die Like a low-hung fruit sprung from the Tree of Life Yeah the moment had arrived
As he wrapped his hands around her throat Before the kitchen lights went dark She took hold of the butcher knife And she drove it into his heart
She drove it into his heart
Soon the police came and they laid her in cuffs Threw her in the back of a black and white and sure enough They locked her away And there she would stay
Until such time her case was assigned To a public defender who had ten other trials on his mind Thus the verdict was in Before a word was spoken
So it came one day on a cold day in July A time to choose to either live or die Like a low-hung fruit sprung from the Tree of Life Yeah the moment had arrived
As I heard her shout, “No way, no how! No more blood and tears will I shed!” And then there came that terrible silence And that mountain of a man was dead
And that mountain of a man was dead
She weren’t no newsworthy face, no lady fair Just a hard-luck woman livin’ in the tenement upstairs Who by a jury of her peers Got twenty-five years