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Boil My Strings Lyrics - Singles - 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.