One, two, three, four

I don't think you're in your right mind, baby
But I could never do to you what you're doing to me
Daddy warned me 'bout the black lung
Mama told me what it feels like hurtin' to breathe

I don't think that I got any real problems
I heard my best friend's dad drank himself to death
I heard he died with a black lung
I heard he died with a big old hole in his chest

I came to you begging and heaving
And you said, "Men used to die inside the mines
So who are you to say you're having trouble breathing?
It ain't real boy, you'll be fine"

I haven't ever met the angel of death
Rumor has it he's a real kind son of a bitch
He ain't giving out black lung
He's just waitin' by the phone to come and clean up the mess

I think he might kill me
Even then, I wonder if you'd know why
'Cause you could hold on to a cold hand and say
A tight chest ain't a reason for a man to die

I came to you begging and heaving
You said, "Men used to die inside the mines
So who are you to say you're having trouble breathing?
It ain't real, boy you'll be fine"

I came to you begging and heaving
And you said, "Men used to die inside the mines
Who are you to say you're having trouble breathing?
It ain't real"
It ain't real
It ain't real

I came to you begging and heaving
And you said, "Men used to die inside the mines
So who are you to say you're having trouble breathing?
It ain't real, it ain't real"

It ain't real, oh
Oh, oh
Ain't real, boy, you'll be fine