Two weeks to take a song from conception to completion to competition!

Capital P

This song was created for Game of Bands round 117 : "Song from a Fictional Broadway Musical"

Lyrics:

[Spoken]
So, boy fish, what did you do to wind up here? You look like a Mormon baby with priors. How did you put yourself on DEATH ROW?
No, no wait, don't tell me. I may look young, but I'm state raised with the heart of a monster, really.
Let's see... well...

[Sung]
It's a hobby of mine, doing crime and then time, and I've seen many cons come and go.
Through old Sally's cold port, when they may feel remorse, but it's too late to forfeit the dough.
So they pace and they sit and they sleep and they piss and they eat and they talk and they fight,
And it goes on that way till they leave or they pray for repentance, then die either way.
(matter of time, you know)

But you, you're on lock for the ol' chopping block, and your eyes don't reveal why that is.
Was it multiple mass psycho spree in a class when you got a big F on your quiz?
Or perhaps a good reason was a bout of high treason, so they bundled you off to hang slow.
No, your face tells a tale of a mobster drug sale, with an unplanned explosion to finish the show.

Am I getting close? Oh, don't look so morose. You've got to be hard to survive in this joint.
Join a gang, buy a knife, it might just save your life. And don't snitch to a guard or you might get the point.

Congrats, you're in max-i-mum security, lifer death a surety, nothing you can do.
Relax, you will be incarcerated until that long awaited day they push you through.
Oh, yeah, maybe the needle,
And oh, yes, maybe the chair, if they dare.
Regardless, you'll be harmless while you're in our care.

Were you a model citizen until you put the staples in to keep the body's innards in where kidneys had been?
You didn't want to torture them, but you were paid a fortune when your bosses heard the info that you pried from those men.
You strike me as the quiet type who lurks and plans to spike and wipe a classified recording from a delegate's mic.
I'm getting very silly here, but I can't parse that look of fear; Is it disguise or are you gonna burst into tears?

No one's ever innocent, you see.
Not if you've been sentenced to the capital P.
Don't cry, don't fight, don't appeal to God your plight.
Read a book, make your peace, find a friend not yet deceased.
Because...

Congrats, you're in max-i-mum security, lifer death a surety, years from this day.
Relax, you will be incarcerated until that long awaited time they pass you away.
Oh, yeah, maybe the needle,
And oh, yes, maybe the chair, if they dare.
Regardless, you'll be harmless while you're in our care.

It don't matter what you did.
You're in here with us All Day, kid.
Or sooner if your ticket is punched after lunch.
But please don't reveal it, I still have a hunch.

You knicked the wrong wallet and you're here to stay.
You're one clink closer to the devil's foyer.
You ran a dog over and this cell's your home.
You're one less soul to list in Peter's old tome.
They bill you and they kill you all the same, my boy.
With scant imprisoned moments you can't even enjoy.

What thing did you break? Is it true, is it fake? Does it matter when bars only part when you wake?
Welcome to prison.
Welcome to life.
Welcome to a cellmate who makes light of your strife.

Congrats, you're in max-i-mum security, lifer death a surety, guilty or good.
Relax, you will be incarcerated until that long awaited day they fasten the hood.
Hey, hey, maybe the needle,
And ah, yeah, maybe the chair, if they dare.
Regardless, you'll be harmless,
The slot is for your arms, yes.
You won't long be so charmless while you're in my care.

[Spoken]
It's not a sex crime, right? That doesn't go over well, usually.
[Exit]

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