I haven't seen a cop this bad Since Guttenburgs' Mahoney The sheriffs and the sandwiches Are both filled with bologna There's a cold hard metal bed Next to a cold hard metal crapper And a cold hard metal chair Next to the prosthetic-legged rapper From the top of the Zephyr To the bottom of the barrel In monochromatic and itchy ill fitting apparel There's a trainee and a geezer With an ugly singing horde There's a dozen of us harmonizing to another inmates' snore There's a short little gangsta using a pen for a knife As a Jon Gosselin doppelganger Welcomes me to my new life His wife can't take care of their dog So I laugh at him in Walgreens And I flip him off just like a pog And now I suppose you know how the story goes Of the Jazzland Bandits drinking Cobras and Lokos And now I suppose you know how the story goes Of those Jazzland Bandits when they're drinking those Four Lokos Those four Lokos