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Alone, listless. Breakfast table in an otherwise empty room. |
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Young girl, violence. Center of her own attention, no, no. |
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Mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it. |
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Tries to make her proud. Yeah. |
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The shades go down into her head. |
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Painted room. Can't deny there's something wrong. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me... |
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She holds the hand that holds her down. |
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She will rise above. Ooh... Woh. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to be. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me daughter. Not fit to. |
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The picture kept will remind me. |
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Don't call me... |
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The shades go down. (x4) |
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Woh... |
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I see a girl of the night with a baby in her hand. |
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Under an old street light. Oh, next to a garbage can. |
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Now she's put her kid away. She's going to get a hit. |
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She hates her life and what she's done with it. |
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That's one more kid that will never go to school, never get to fall in love, never get to be cool. |
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That's one more kid that will never go to school, never get to fall in love, never get to be cool. Oh... |
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He won the lotery when he was born. Yeah. |
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A big hand slaped the white male american. |
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Do no wrong. So clean cut. Dirty his hands it comes right off. |
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Police man. (x2) |
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Ooohhh... |
