Out on the streets on a Saturday night, No problems on my mind
But around the corner with some steel in his hand, Is an end that's most unkind
Poor Robert Bell with a bullet in his gut, Did they ask his permission first?
The bullet goes in and blood flows out, and life is at its worst
{Take the guns off the streets for us, and for the ones who have eaten lead
Take them all and melt them down, Before the streets are dead}
The roads are dark and the streets are narrow, and everyone's driving fast
No matter who or what you are, Any word could be your last
Your heart is warm and your blood is cold, and your head is screwed on tight
It's too dark to see and it's too dark to know, And that's why it always happens at night