A D A
Living down here
D A
they throw me down and count me
D A
I’m making this up
D A
it keeps my feathers clean
E D A
And the black boys they kick my ass and tell me
E E7 A
That the women their ruby lips are dry
(Chorus)
E A
I get angry I get sad
E A
And I lose that sweetness that I used to have
E
And I boil my strings
A E
To bring them back to gold
A E
Bring them back to gold
E7 A
Bring them back to gold
(second verse)
Sleeping in here, they give me plenty to eat
Don’t make trouble, make something with concrete
So I fill my pipes with it to break them black boys heads
Lord I wish I had a gun, I wish I had a gun
Chorus