If I had a dime, for every time I've been down.
I'd trade these beggar's rags, for a solid silver crown.
Cursed by loneliness, but blessed by freedom to roam.
To wander these back alleys, where I call my home.
All I have to my name, is an old glass pipe and my shoes.
Sold my soul to fill a hole, not filled with women or booze.
Please don't pity me old glory, not you old fools on the hill.
Just give me your spare change, I'm only in it for the thrill.
Ignorant drink their lattes, and the pious drink their wine.
You know every Junkie like a setting sun does shine.