[Verse 1] I just wanted a snack, it was cold and late, The corner shop shut, I accepted me fate. But then through the fog, like a beacon divine, Came a Greggs van idlin’, past the yellow line. ⸻ [Verse 2] I knocked on the window, I smiled real wide, Said, “Lend us a roll, I’ve got pride but no pie.” He said, “We’re closed,” I said, “You’re breathin’, that counts,” Next thing I knew, I was tackled by six discount boun—cers. ⸻ [Chorus] Now I’m locked in Low Moss, all for a bite, Tried to liberate pastry in the dead of night. Judge said, “Intent to snack, with comedic abuse,” Now I’m singin’ jailhouse blues with a side of jus. ⸻ [Verse 3] They gave me a cell, no view, one chair, But I made me own harmonica from a broken Tupperware. Got a bunkmate named Steg, thinks he’s made of moss, He holds therapy sessions with a traffic cone boss. ⸻ [Bridge – Spoken, slow and theatrical:] “The prison therapist said, ‘Jimmy, do you regret your actions?’ I said, ‘Only that I didn’t grab two rolls… and maybe a yum yum.’” ⸻ [Final Chorus] Now I play the blues in a boiler suit of shame, Convicted by pastry, now part of the game. When I get out, I’ll do it right — no excuse… Next time I steal, it’ll be quiche… I’ve matured. ⸻ [Outro – Harmonica solo fades into the distant clang of a prison door. One slow, defiant foot tap. A kettle whistles.]
