Justice on Bail

Where is mom, kid? they asked me.
I don't know, and that is the truth.
She ran out on me years ago,
so I killed her. Really, I don't know.
Is she in heaven or hell?
No clue, seeing as how I'm not the judge, in any case.

Why did you steal the car, kid? the one on the left inquired.
Don't you get it, skinny little excuse for a doughnut eating cop?
I did it for the rush.
I could care less about the money
I'll get from it the second I con out of here.
I like the feeling of leather seats,
a V8 or better purring beneath my feet,
and the clutch of a steering wheel firmly in my grasp.
In that kind of relationship,
I drive where I want to,
do what I want to,
and the transmission happily complies.

Did I know I would get in trouble? the other on the right says surprised.
No, fat moron with a desire to look like Chuck Norris,
I really thought it would be fine.
Actually that wasn't sarcasm.
I've done it plenty of times before,
but you'll never know because I'll never tell. I
 like that rule, innocent until proven guilty.
It has saved me many times before.

Stop asking me questions I will never answer truthfully,
they are wasted words,
and everyone knows it is a crime to waste words.
Just clap me in the cuffs and let me wait
with the other miscreants and street walkers
for my friend to come get me.
He will tell you I'm a troubled girl,
escaped from a nearby asylum,
which isn't far from the truth,
and then we will go cruising down the highway
in the stolen car, my freedom paid for with the money
I got from selling it to him. Justice is sweet.