Boil my Strings A D A Living down here D A they throw me down and count me D A I??m making this up D A it keeps my feathers clean E D A And the black boys they kick my ass and tell me E E7 A That the women their ruby lips are dry (Chorus) E A I get angry I get sad E A And I lose that sweetness that I used to have E And I boil my strings A E To bring them back to gold A E Bring them back to gold E7 A Bring them back to gold (second verse) Sleeping in here, they give me plenty to eat Don??t make trouble, make something with concrete So I fill my pipes with it to break them black boys heads Lord I wish I had a gun, I wish I had a gun Chorus ____________________________________________