These black ole stones have just kept rollin, & there be nothing that I fear, while my golden bacardi bottle starts callin. My weary friends much rather keep on stallin; & even so, I hold them all dear, but the black ole stones must keep on rollin. All day I hear their sly voices softly talkin, so what they say is never clear when my golden bacardi bottle keeps on callin. Sighs escape, while my Marlboro keeps a-burnin, & though I've kept my past near, these black ole stones have to keep on rollin. Some reckon I'm one who delights in moon howlin canines bared, & stifling a tear-- but that's just my golden bacardi bottle callin. It's this cold 'n solitary dark that I'm stalkin, donnin my surcoat 'n hat so drear-- but these black ole stones have to keep on rollin 'cause the golden bacardi bottle is who be callin.