It was said of the sheriff of Calhoun City
That he kept a close eye on his daughter Anna-Lee
Those who sang her songs were in trouble
They were sure to end up in the pen

Anna-Lee was indeed much of a horny piece of work
And on a Sunday while the preacher was preaching
She came up to me and rubbed up against me
And gave me a not-very-discreet rendezvous

I almost agreed to everything she proposed
But in her father's eyes were bazookas
I understood and I beat feet
That's when she hissed at me: You'll be sorry

I was sound asleep when they knocked on my door
I opened it to the sheriff and his deputy
He said: Son, Anna-Lee is expectin' a baby
I said: I ain't know that child

He put me on trial, and I got
Ninety-two years, two of which were suspended
I told myself I'd have time to learn how to count
And to think about that bitch Anna-Lee

Like a good claustrophobe, I broke loose of the pen
And I broke the marathon record
A regiment buddy loaned me his pad
But the sheriff was always on my heels

A few years passed and it ain't no party
I'll never get used to that family of pigs
Anna-Lee in my bed, the old man retired
And that fresh-faced new sheriff who calls me Pops