Up at three a.m. again, sittin’ on the can.
Sweatin’ out all last night’s gin, worried ’bout the man.
He shut off my internet, even killed my phone.
Am I frightened? Yeah, you bet! I am not alone.
Police are like a strike force now, armored law god’s sons.
In the street, it’s pow, pow, pow! Everyone got guns.
Me, I got no weapon bigger than a kitchen knife.
If I go out steppin’, I am bound to lose my life.
So I barricade the door, block the windows, too.
Got no food, can’t reach the store. Not much I can do.
Things look bleaker every day. Soon my blood will flow.
Even if I get away, got no place to go.