Got

Got arrid tongue and thirsty eyes
Got a fat flickknife and a black disguise
Got God, got punched, got drunken bruise
Got sober days, black-coffee blues.

Got you who thinks you know what's going
On down the alleys with the green glass throwing
Got you who trashed the human scum
wants me to march to your beating drum.

Got a couple of letters tagged to my name
Got coke, got dead mates (killing blame)
Got a gang for Clapton, got a load of sand
And a point five tremor in a steady hand

Got stolen wealth, got house by the river
Got tingling skin and a springtime shiver
Got opium poppies staring the sun
Got a narcotic grin since the day begun

Got a kaliber can which I'm sinking down
When I'm blasting the pigs in a Sony town
Got skag, what a drag, have you understood?
Got the games in my head, got myself for good.