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Have no clue where this came from or what it is.

She was born in filth, clothed in pain
And the world painted sin on her skin.

They called the virgin a whore
And made it so
Night after night
Fifty dollars a turn

Father, the pimp
Pushing her more so he can afford
Mother’s next fix to
Stop the voices

And inside her head
There’s no plots of revenge, plans for escape
No desire for rescue.
This is all she knows.
And the world paints sin on her skin.

He’s never touched her,
She’s only for sale.
But it’s his face she sees
When she’s colored
Black and blue and red.

Father, the pimp
Cries silently as
The money changes hands
And he condemns her once again.
But mother needs it
And there’s no other way.

Inside his mind
He thinks of better days
Imaginary days
Where his daughter’s alive
And not an empty shell
But mother needs it
And the world paints his sin on her skin.

She was born in filth, covered in pain
And the world paints sin on her skin
Each and every day,
Fifty dollars a turn.