| Alone listless breakfast table in an otherwise empty room |
| Young girl, violin’s center of her own attention |
| The mother reads aloud, child, tries to understand it |
| Tries to make her proud |
| The shades go down, into her head |
| Painted room, can’t deny there’s something wrong |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me |
| She holds the hand that holds her down |
| She will rise above |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to be |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me daughter, not fit to |
| The picture kept will remind me |
| Don’t call me |
| The shades go down |
| The shades go down |
| The shades go down |
| The shades go down |
| I see a girl of the night |
| With a baby in her hand |
| Under an old street light |
| Oh, next to a garbage can |
| Now she’s put her kid away |
| She’s going to get a hit |
| She hates her life |
| And what she’s done with it |
| That’s one more kid |
| That’ll never go to school |
| Never get to fall in love |
| Never get to be cool |
| That’s one more kid |
| That’ll never go to school |
| Never get to fall in love |
| Never get to be cool |
| He won the lottery |
| When he was born |
| A big hand slapped |
| The white male American |
| Do no wrong |
| So clean cut |
| Dirties his hands |
| It comes right off |
| Police man, police man |