The Thirteens (Black)

Your Momma took to shouting, Your Poppa's gone to war, Your sister's in the streets, Your brother's in the bar, The thirteens. Right On. Your cousin's taking smack, Your uncle's in the joint, Your buddy's in the gutter, Shooting for his point, The thirteens. Right On. And you, you make me sorry, You out here by yourself, I'd call you something dirty, But there just ain't nothing left, ‘cept The thirteens. Right On.