Whole jungle on my shoulders my back's gonna break
Needle's broken in the ditch of burned out veins I point out the problem three fingers point at me I'm a slowe for the gow/ For the gow for the gow Slave labor to slave/ I drag myself around I can't live without the thought of something killing me Service for the sick a minute takes a month Service for the sick in the heat of a cold sweat I won't put my shovel down I keep working to get well I guess I never will No more grass from shanty town I graduated to the gow