Boyd and Candace
I am a backdoor man
On the front line
A hard luck soldier
I write prisoner's wives
From Western Union company

I am a dungeon keeper
If the weather allows it
A hue and cry calls from under
Tethered to a teletype desk
I am a victim of my pride
Boyd and Candace hear my plea

I am chained to a job
If I love my wife
My son grows seven
If I scaremonger in Plymouth
To call politicians fake
Boyd and Candace let me pull a gun

The judges reprimand me
With their eyes of steel
I escape my own anger
By praying that God grant
Me my death by a cocked revolver
Boyd and Candace pull a roll of tens on my bill of death