“[reading her poem] You've heard the story of Jesse James / Of how he lived and died / If you're still in need / Of something to read / Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde. / Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang / I'm sure you all have read / How they rob and steal / And those who squeal / Are usually found dyin' or dead. / They call them cold-hearted killers / They say they are heartless and mean / But I say this with pride / That I once knew Clyde / When he was honest and upright and clean. / But the laws fooled around / Kept takin' him down / And lockin' him up in a cell / Till he said to me: 'I'll never be free / So I'll meet a few of them in Hell.' / If a policeman is killed in Dallas / And they have no clue to guide / If they can't find a fiend / They just wipe their slate clean / And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde / If they try to act like citizens / And rent them a nice little flat / About the third night / They're invited to fight / By a sub-guns' rat-a-tat-tat. / Some day, they'll go down together / They'll bury them side by side / To a few, it'll be grief / To the law, a relief / But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.”