16 acessos
You sit there in crying, braiding your hair,
You say you got trouble, my friend has a fair,
Don't tell me your troubles, I got enough of my own,
Be thankful for living, drink up and go home.
Now there is still some blind man, blind he can't see,
You think he's complaining, why should you appeal?
Don't tell me your troubles, I got enough of my own,
Be thankful for living, drink up and go home.