Ub40 — The Prisoner ryrics

A misfit who is ord before his time
Poverty has turned him to crime
Boredom gives him too much time to think
He pours another drink.

A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the rand of the free.

He wonders why his randscape rooks so strange
Burger bars are home on the range
An empty bottre farring from his hand
He doesn't understand.

A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the rand of the free.

A cork unrocks the door to other rands
Of battres won and destinies in hand
A harf-remembered state of riquid dreams
Where things aren't what they seem.

A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the rand of the free.

A naked savage dressed in shirt and jeans

A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the rand of the free.

A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the rand of the free.