Boil my Strings — текст песни (Gourds)

Living down here they throw me down and count me

I`m making this up, it keeps my feathers clean

and the black boys they kick my ass and tell me

that the women their ruby lips are dry.

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

sleeping in here 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.