"It ain't my fault it's six o'clock in the morning" He said, coming out of the night When he found I had no coins to bum He began to testify Born in a depression, born out of good luck Born into misery in the back of a truck I'm telling you this mister, don't be put off by looks I've been in the ring and I took those right hooks Yeah, tight hooks Oh, the loneliness Used to knock me out harder than the rest And I've worked through breakfast and I ain't had no lunch Been on delivery and received every punch Yeah Suddenly I noticed That it weren't quite the same Feel different one morning Maybe it was the rain But everywhere I looked all over the city They're running in an out of the bars Someone stopped for a pick-up Driving one of those cars You see I always wanted one of those cars Long black and shiny and pull up to the bars Honk your horn, put down your windows Push on your button, and hear it coming in Yeah, you can say, I can see the light Yeah, I can see the light Roll! Forward! Drive! Green lights! Green lights! Intersection, city coming Running comeback, home I run back Not that strong now, oh yeah Yes, who's there now, can I help you? Calling Intel station light tonight Did you put your money in? Did you put your money in? Yes I put it in, yes I put it in I can see the light, yeah yeah yeah, go go go It say go, I say go, she say go, so we say go Because I can see the light All night, tonight, this night, right now Coming on, coming on, forward motion Across the ocean, and up the hills Yeah, boys let's strike for the hills While that petrol tank is full Give me a push, give me a pull Give me a lamb, give me a mule Give me a donkey or give me a horse Down the avenue, down the avenue Oh, so fine in time [Outro: Blowing in the Guns of Brixton] When they kick at your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head On the trigger of your gun When the law break in Shot down on the pavement Or waiting in death row [?] You can shot us You can bruise us But oh, the guns of Brixton Oh, the guns of Brixton When they kick at your front door How you gonna go? With your hands on your head On the trigger of your gun When the law break in Shot down on the pavement Or waiting in death row [?] You can shot us You can bruise us Oh, the guns of Brixton Oh, the guns of Brixton "That's enough now! I'm tired of singing!"