Won't you run underneath the door. Take my home, treat it as your own.
My mother told me don't you run away, Because it takes a man to keep them hungry, But I'm so damn cold, And if this blood don't turn to gold I think I'm doomed.
Ooh, Yeah.
The time has come my friend to run, I bid you please to take the roses an the loaded gun I left you 'Cause I'm hopin' now you find somehow That I'm so damn cold, And if this blood don't turn to gold, I think I'm doomed.