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Текст (слова) песни: Gourds - Boil my StringsLiving 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.
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