Gold

What you see, is what you get My roots, it's kind of aching My mind is kind of sore My streets sometimes dirty The crowd wants some more My body a collision Of pride and control Underneath my red dress A skin made of gold Made of gold What you see, is what you get What you see, is what you get, get, get... My roots, it's kind of aching My mind, kind of sore Underneath my red dress A skin made of gold Made of gold I see a woman, with a soul I see a city, no one controls