They never knew the little kid—the kid I used to know;
The little bare-legged girl back home,
The little kid that played alone—
They don’t know half the things I know, kid, ain’t it so?
They got y’, kid, they got y’—you know they got y’ right;
They waited till they saw y’ limp,
Then introduced y’ to the pimp—
Ah, you were down then, kid, and couldn’t fight!
I guess y’ know what some don’t know, and others know damn well—
That sweatshops don’t grow angels’ wings,