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Two cons broke out of the slammer,
From the slammer to their freedom,
From the slammer in Odessa.

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At the hide-out of the kingpin
They stopped and laid low,
They laid low and they caught their breath.

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Comrade, oh my comrade,
All my wounds are hurting bad,
All my wounds they hurt down deep.

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One of them is healing,
And another's come to a head,
But the third one's still stuck in my side.

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Comrade, oh my comrade,
You have got to tell my mother
That her son died in the war.

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With his saber in his one hand,
With his rifle in the other,
Singing a merry song as he went.

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Comrade, comrade crackpot,
Put my body in its grave,
Dig it deep and put my body in its grave.

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With my saber in my one hand,
With my rifle my the other,
Singing a merry song as I went.

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So, what did we fight for?
What did we suffer for?
So, what did we spill our blood for?

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While they're out there feasting,
While they're living it up,
We're here serving our sons up.