Mr. President, our friendship's overrated,
I don't think a friend would do the things you do.
I have never put in chains a man I hated,
But your friends all seem to get their chains from you.

My true friend is held by chains at Butner prison.
He told secrets all meant for me anyhow,
But your people say that he committed treason.
Mr. President, what are you hiding now?

Maybe it's the fact your people train the killer,
Put a loaded rifle in the bandit's hand?
I will not forget the thick black smoke that billowed
From the blooming towns destroyed at your command.

And although you hail our friendship never-ending,
And your writers do their best to numb my brain,
Mr. President, there is no point pretending,
'Till you grant my friend his freedom once again.