So you want to be an artist and the only way to do it is to suffer And you want to be cool so you fake it 'til you can grow upper Ah, yes, you've got money in your pants Why don't you come in from the street and dance? or are the pleasures of the peasants too lowly for your glance? Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues because you live in the street and have no shoes? You choose, you lose, and it don't give you the right to sing the blues You want to be cool You wear your shades across your face, you never smile Anybody seeing you would think that you have paid your dues, and now you're retired You're all against the Viet Nam war, you make it plain You go to all the marches in an ecstasy of pain but you couldn't spare a quarter for a blind man on the corner standing there in the rain Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues because you live in the street and have no shoes? You choose, you lose, and it don't give you the right to sing the blues Yes, you want to be a Negro, Try to prove that you have soul, but it's all gone And you want to be a martyr so you moan about your problems just like old Uncle Tom Ah, honey, don't you see Blues is more than just a fabricated mystery You've got to get out of it to get into it and then you can sing Honey, d'you think you've got a right to sing the blues because you live in the street and have no shoes? You choose, you lose, and it don't give you the right to sing the bluesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
