I see you all flit about the streets,
Like pixies spendin' gold-dust with some pixie disease.
God knows I was just like you just a few years back.
Do you have some change, love? Tell me, what's the crack?
It's not up my nose; it's all over the streets.
I have no hoes. There are none lower than me.
Do you know what it's like to be homeless on the streets?
Go about your business, sir; don't worry 'bout me.
I used to have a wife; I used to have three kids.
Once my life was partly strife; now that's all it is.
I don't know what to have for my next meal.
I'll have the bread; I'll skip the veal.
I've got the homeless blues;
The blues are in my cold, chapped skin.
I may go to the shelter and check myself in.
They have three-course meals there.
It's not great, but it's enough.
It's pretty cold when you've been sold a life on the streets.
When your fabric's split it's hard to make ends meet.