LUCILLE :

You don't know this man

You don't know a thing

You come here with these horrifying stories

These contemptable conceits

And you think you understand how a mans heart beats

And you don't know a thing

You don't know this man

You don't even try

When a man writes his mother every Sunday

Pays his bills before they're due

Works so hard to feed his family

There's your murderer for you

And you stand there spittin' words

That you know aren't true

Then you don't know this man

I don't think you could

You don't have the right to know

A man that wise and good

He is a decent man

He is an honest man

And you don't know

And you never will

Not from me not from anyone who knows him

Not a morsel not a crumb not a clue

I have nothing more to say to you