And something snapped in this head of mine
I yelled stick 'em up -
Give me your money, your watches and rings.
Well, I called New York and talked to that brain quack
And said Doc I gotta have my old brain back
He said I'm sorry there, Mr. Cash, but I can't do that
He said I put your brain in a chicken last monday
He's singing your songs and makin' lots of money
And I got him signed to a ten-year recording contract.