"It ain't my fault it's six o'clock in the morning"
He said, coming out of the night
When he found I had no coins to bum
He began to testify

Born in a depression, born out of good luck
Born into misery in the back of a truck
I'm telling you this mister, don't be put off by looks
I've been in the ring and I took those right hooks

Yeah, tight hooks

Oh, the loneliness
Used to knock me out harder than the rest
And I've worked through breakfast and I ain't had no lunch
Been on delivery and received every punch

Yeah

Suddenly I noticed
That it weren't quite the same
Feel different one morning
Maybe it was the rain

But everywhere I looked all over the city
They're running in an out of the bars
Someone stopped for a pick-up
Driving one of those cars
You see I always wanted one of those cars
Long black and shiny and pull up to the bars
Honk your horn, put down your windows
Push on your button, and hear it coming in

Yeah, you can say, I can see the light
Yeah, I can see the light
Roll! Forward! Drive! Green lights! Green lights!
Intersection, city coming
Running comeback, home I run back
Not that strong now, oh yeah
Yes, who's there now, can I help you?
Calling Intel station light tonight
Did you put your money in?
Did you put your money in?
Yes I put it in, yes I put it in
I can see the light, yeah yeah yeah, go go go
It say go, I say go, she say go, so we say go
Because I can see the light
All night, tonight, this night, right now
Coming on, coming on, forward motion
Across the ocean, and up the hills
Yeah, boys let's strike for the hills
While that petrol tank is full
Give me a push, give me a pull
Give me a lamb, give me a mule
Give me a donkey or give me a horse
Down the avenue, down the avenue
Oh, so fine in time
[Outro: Blowing in the Guns of Brixton]
When they kick at your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
On the trigger of your gun

When the law break in
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting in death row [?]

You can shot us
You can bruise us
But oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton

When they kick at your front door
How you gonna go?
With your hands on your head
On the trigger of your gun

When the law break in
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting in death row [?]

You can shot us
You can bruise us
Oh, the guns of Brixton
Oh, the guns of Brixton
"That's enough now! I'm tired of singing!"