The truth is...
The kid's medicine made him sin
Whether it's from a doctor or a dealer
Screaming about Juanita
He put his record on until he's bleeding on the needle
And he's weeping in the street
Cut down on his curtain call, that's where he's gonna sleep
To gain what these hands he once possessed
A dozen roses on the pavement, laid to rest
Oh, my dear Sister Christie, will I feel some remorse?
She says, "No, pull the trigger
'Cause he's left us no recourse
His brain has a sickness, so kill it at the source"