Every morning I get up late.
Every evening the same debate.
Why do I do that thing to me?

Could do it easy, could work it out.
Could earn more money without a doubt.
But Lightning Slim had talked to me.

Now I play the blues with all my might
the friends I found they hold on tight.
We stick together through ups and downs
with the Godfathers' spirits wandering around.
The tons of stuff we carried I can't count' em anymore!
And then it hurts when someone slams the door.

Every morning I get on it.
Every evening I feel the heat
that burns my soul and lets me bleed.