Stockyard Stoics The Ballad of Maga and Squeaky Lyrics:
(with apologies to our comrades in Criminal
Class USA for accidentally and
not on purpose stealing the entire chorus
melody from their song "Southern
Justice")

Incarceration! Degradation! Humiliation of a generation!

Our friend Maga from Eugene
She moved down to New Orleans
Fell in love with this kid Squeaky from around the block
Squeaky he knew his town well
Piece of heaven, piece of hell
Knew the sound of a key throwing home a deadbolt lock

Squeaky came home late one night
Found their street an ugly sight
Of police cars and flashing lights and a body lying still
Off-duty N.O.P.D. cop
News at ten! Fatally shot!
There's no chance they won't find the one
that caused that blood to spill

There'll be one more on the pile of useless forgotten hides
Two-and-a-half million living breathing souls inside

Two weeks later cops arrived
Found Squeaky in his yard outside
Knocked him down and beat him up and dragged him off to jail
Asked if killing cops was fun
[ Find more Lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.org/Lfch ]
Asked him where he put the gun
Judge handed down an indictment and wouldn't give him any bail

He'll be one more on the pile of useless forgotten hides
Two-and-a-half million living breathing souls inside
No slice of life, just loaded dice, no equal chance for all
Only black and brown and red need stand
for this racist cattle call

[Chorus:]
Hey! Hey! Lock 'em up and throw away the key
Good old god-blessed USA ain't no place for living free
Hey! Hey! Don't talk back and don't put up no fight
Unless your bank account is full and your skin is lily white

Incarceration! Degeneration! Humiliation of a generation!

Sixteen months under lock and key in
the depths of the storied OPP
Sixteen months of an ugly joke with a
burning fire and a fading hope
Sixteen months with her love inside always
wondering what she hasn't tried
Sixteen months of court and bills and
staying sane with bitter pills
Sixteen months and sixty grand
Sixteen months in the freedom land
Sixteen months of creeping death
Sixteen months with nothing left
Sixteen months in a rotting cell
And sixteen months of living hell
But sometimes things turn out okay
Maga's man came home today
Not guilty! Not guilty! Oh yeah

[Chorus]

Not guilty! Not guilty! Oh yeah!
Lyrics: The Ballad of Maga and Squeaky, Stockyard Stoics [end]