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Bob Dylan

I Shall Be Free No.10

  folk  singer-songwriter  classic rock  rock  folk rock
338,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни Bob Dylan - I Shall Be Free No.10

Bob Dylan - I Shall Be Free No.10 слова песни




I`m just average, common tooI`m just like him, the same as youI`m everybody`s brother and sonI ain`t different from anyoneIt ain`t no use a-talking to meIt`s just the same as talking to you.I was shadow-boxing earlier in the dayI figured I was ready for Cassius ClayI said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come26, 27, 28, 29, I`m gonna make your face look just like mineFive, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you`d better run99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won`t even recognize you14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen."Well, I don`t know, but I`ve been toldThe streets in heaven are lined with goldI ask you how things could get much worseIf the Russians happen to get up there first.Wowee` pretty scary!Now, I`m liberal, but to a degreeI want ev`rybody to be freeBut if you think that I`ll let Barry GoldwaterMove in next door and marry my daughterYou must think I`m crazy!I wouldn`t let him do it for all the farms in Cuba.Well, I set my monkey on the logAnd ordered him to do the DogHe wagged his tail and shook his headAnd he went and did the Cat insteadHe`s a weird monkey, very funky.I sat with my high-heeled sneakers onWaiting to play tennis in the noonday sunI had my white shorts rolled up past my waistAnd my wig-hat was falling in my faceBut they wouldn`t let me on the tennis court.I gotta woman, she`s so meanShe sticks my boots in the washing machineSticks me with buckshot when I`m nudePuts bubblegum in my foodShe`s funny, wants my money, calls me "honey."Now I gotta friend who spends his lifeStabbing my picture with a bowie-knifeDreams of strangling me with a scarfWhen my name comes up he pretends to barf.I`ve got a million friends!Now they asked me to read a poemAt the sorority sister`s homeI got knocked down and my head was swimmin`I wound up with the Dean of WomenYippee! I`m a poet, and I know it.Hope I don`t blow it.I`m gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strangeSo I look like a walking mountain rangeAnd I`m gonna ride into Omaha on a horseOut to the country club and the golf course.Carry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds.Now you`re probably wondering by nowJust what this song is all aboutWhat`s probably got you baffled moreIs what this thing here is for.It`s nothingIt`s something I learned over in England.

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