John Prine — Christmas in Prison

It was Christmas in prison And the food was real good We had turkey and pistols Carved out of wood And I dream of her always Even when I don't dream Her name's on my tongue And her blood's in my stream Wait awhile, eternity Old mother nature's got nothing on me Come to me, run to me Come to me now We're rolling, my sweetheart We're flowing, by God! She reminds me of a chess game With someone I admire Or a picnic in the rain After a prairie fire Her heart is as big As this whole goddamn jail And she's sweeter than saccharin At a drug store sale Wait awhile, eternity Old mother nature's got nothing on me Come to me, run to me Come to me now We're rolling, my sweetheart We're flowing, by God! The searchlight in the big yard Swings round with the gun And spotlights the snowflakes Like the dust in the sun It's Christmas in prison There'll be music tonight I'll probably get homesick I love you, goodnight Wait awhile, eternity Old mother nature's got nothing on me Come to me, run to me Come to me now We're rolling, my sweetheart We're flowing, by God!