Third Degree - Eddie Boyd

Got me accused of peeping, I can’t see a thing

Got me accused of petting, I can’t even raise my hand

Bad luck, bad luck is killing me Well I just can’t stand no more of this third degree

Got me accused of murder, I ain’t harmed a man

Got me accused of forgery, I can’t even write my name

Got me accused of taxes, I ain’t got a dime

Got me accused of children, and ain’t nary one of them was mine

Got me accused of taxes, I ain’t got a dime

Got me accused of children, and ain’t nary one of them was mine