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