Split your guts, sing the blues
And at parties never mind your Ps and Qs
And the pimps, well they all wear snakeskin shoes

Mr. Hammond, at a clip joint
Some recordings he wishes to anoint
And the pimps, well they all wear snakeskin shoes

Sitting beside the side of the road
Bleeding to death, well watch your blood flow

Opera singers, do their thing
Bessie slaps them on the back as they do sing

And the pimps, well they all wear snakeskin shoes