| Oh, the age of the inmates
|
| I remember quite freely:
|
| No younger than twelve
|
| No older 'n seventeen
|
| Thrown in like bandits
|
| Cast off like criminals
|
| Inside the grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| From the dirty old mess hall
|
| You marched to that brick wall
|
| Too weary to talk
|
| And too tired to sing
|
| Oh, it’s all afternoon
|
| You remember your home town
|
| Inside the grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| Oh, the gates are cast iron
|
| And the walls are barbed wire
|
| Stay far from the fence
|
| With the electricity sting
|
| And it’s keep down your head
|
| And stay in your number
|
| On the inside grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| Oh, it’s fare-thee-well
|
| To the deep hollow dungeon
|
| Farewell to the board-walk
|
| That takes you to the screen
|
| And farewell to the minutes
|
| They threaten you with it
|
| Inside the grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| It’s many a guard
|
| That stands around smiling
|
| Holding his club
|
| Like he was a king
|
| Hoping to get you
|
| Behind a wood piling
|
| Inside the grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| The night aimed shadows
|
| Through the crossbar windows
|
| And the wind punched hard
|
| To make the wall-siding sing
|
| It’s many a night I pretended to be sleeping
|
| On the inside grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| As the rain rattled heavy
|
| On the bunk-house shingles
|
| And the sounds in the night
|
| That made my ears ring
|
| Until the keys of the guards
|
| Clicked the tune of the morning
|
| On the inside grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| Oh, some of us’ll end up
|
| In St. Cloud Prison
|
| And some of us’ll wind up
|
| To be lawyers and things
|
| And some of us’ll stand up
|
| To meet you on your crossroads
|
| From inside the grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing
|
| From the inside grounds
|
| Around the walls of Red Wing |