Boil My Strings Lyrics

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 a*s 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.