[Verse 1]
Living down here, they throw me down and count me
I'm making this up, it keep my feathers clean
And the black boys, they kick my ass and tell me
That the women, their ruby lips are dry

[Chorus]
I get angry and I get sad
And I lose this sweetness that I used to have
And I boil my strings
To get them back to gold
To get them back to gold
To get them back to gold

[Verse 2]
Sleeping in here, and they give me plenty to eat
Don't make trouble, make something with the concrete
So I fill my pipes with it, to break them black boys heads
Lord, but I wish I had a gun, I wish I had a gun

[Chorus]
I get angry and I get sad
And I lose this sweetness that I used to have
And I boil my strings
To get them back to gold
To get them back to gold
To get them back to gold