Shrimp and Saints (Креветки и святые)

I bring home the tide and the tune so my people can eat,
Can dream, oh yeah.
Smoke-stained bar off bourbon,
Three drunks and a crooked fan,
I pour my whole river in a love song,
Just me and that mic stand.
Suit in the back, stops talking, raises his glass,
Stares through his sun; I hear a long road that could start right here with you.
Now there's bright lights on my boots,