Intro: You may be sitting outside, now, just feeling like you're bullet proof Turns out you ain't doing a god damn thing, brown-bagging outside of that telephone booth All the times it seems so hard, just to get your hands upon the pouring rain Soon as you feel yourself crawl back up, you're on your way back down again You just pray with me, lost daughters and sons Drink a little, smoke before the barrel of the gun Them troubles outside of my door There ain't no way to add them up there's going to be so many more. You just stay with me lost daughters and sons. Ain't nobody leaving until this bottle is done Them troubles outside of my door There ain't no way to add them up there's going to be. There's going to be, there's