pocket full of misery

seven on seven, till them chains come undone, fighting a battle that you've already won, singing: "hey, hey mama, look at me, standing down on twelfth street, pocket full of misery", boxcars and bad luck, well, they never were your friends, the whiskey and the lightning, well, it brought you round again, you were singing: "hey, hey mama, look at me, standing down on twelfth street, pocket full of misery", back down in texas, where they all new your name, seven, come eleven, you could hear them angels sing, they were singing: "hey, hey mama, look at me, standing down on twelfth street, pocket full of misery", they were singing: "hey, hey mama, take a look at me, standing down on twelfth street, pocket full of misery"