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Poem by Bonnie Parker Called "The Story of Bonnie and Clyde"

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Bonnie Parker wrote two poems while she and Clyde Barrow were on the run from the law. This poem, the Story of Bonnie and Clyde, was the second of the two. (The first poem is "The Story of Suicide Sal.") Bonnie wrote this poem while she and Clyde were running from the law. Bonnie gave a copy of the poem to her mother just weeks before both Bonnie and Clyde were gunned down.

The Story of Bonnie and Clyde

You've read 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 dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They're not so ruthless as that;
      Their nature is raw;
      They hate all the law
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded 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 taking him down
And locking 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."

The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
      But they made up their minds
      If all roads were blind,
They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
      But it's fight, man to man,
      And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
      But take it all in all,
      Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
      If they can't find a fiend,
      They just wipe their slate clean
And hand it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
      They had no hand
      In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy;
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
      In these awful hard times
      We'd make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."

The police haven't got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
      He said, "Don't start any fights
      We aren't working nights
We're joining the NRA."

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
      Where the women are kin,
      And the men are men,
And they won't "stool" 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-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too tough or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
      They've been shot at before,
      But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;
And they'll bury them side by side;
      To few it'll be grief
      To the law a relief
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

-- Bonnie Parker

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