| Oh, the age of the inmates | 
| I remember quite freely: | 
| No younger than twelve | 
| No older 'n seventeen | 
| Thrown in like bandits | 
| Cast off like criminals | 
| Inside the grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| From the dirty old mess hall | 
| You marched to that brick wall | 
| Too weary to talk | 
| And too tired to sing | 
| Oh, it’s all afternoon | 
| You remember your home town | 
| Inside the grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| Oh, the gates are cast iron | 
| And the walls are barbed wire | 
| Stay far from the fence | 
| With the electricity sting | 
| And it’s keep down your head | 
| And stay in your number | 
| On the inside grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| Oh, it’s fare-thee-well | 
| To the deep hollow dungeon | 
| Farewell to the board-walk | 
| That takes you to the screen | 
| And farewell to the minutes | 
| They threaten you with it | 
| Inside the grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| It’s many a guard | 
| That stands around smiling | 
| Holding his club | 
| Like he was a king | 
| Hoping to get you | 
| Behind a wood piling | 
| Inside the grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| The night aimed shadows | 
| Through the crossbar windows | 
| And the wind punched hard | 
| To make the wall-siding sing | 
| It’s many a night I pretended to be sleeping | 
| On the inside grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| As the rain rattled heavy | 
| On the bunk-house shingles | 
| And the sounds in the night | 
| That made my ears ring | 
| Until the keys of the guards | 
| Clicked the tune of the morning | 
| On the inside grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| Oh, some of us’ll end up | 
| In St. Cloud Prison | 
| And some of us’ll wind up | 
| To be lawyers and things | 
| And some of us’ll stand up | 
| To meet you on your crossroads | 
| From inside the grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing | 
| From the inside grounds | 
| Around the walls of Red Wing |