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Текст песни BOB DYLAN - Tombstone Blues

BOB DYLAN - Tombstone Blues слова песни



Текст песни BOB DYLAN - Tombstone Blues




The sweet pretty things are in bed now of courseThe city fathers they're trying to endorseThe reincarnation of Paul Revere's horseBut the town has no need to be nervous.The ghost of Belle Star she hands down her witsTo Jezebel the nun she violently knits( )A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sitsAt the head of the chamber of commerce.Mama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' for fuseI'm in the kitchen With the tombstone blues.The hysterical bride in the penny arcadeScreaming she moans, "I've just been made"Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shadeSays, "My advice is to not let the boys in".Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles insideHe walks with a swagger and he says to be bride"Stop all this weeping, swallow your prideYou will not die, it's not poison".Mama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' the fuseI'm in the kitchen With the tombstone blues.Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thiefLooks up at his hero the Commander-in-ChiefSaying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it briefIs there a hole for me to get sick in ?"The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a flySaying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"And dropping a bar bell he points to the skySaying, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken.Mama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' for fuseI'm in the kitchen With the tombstone blues.The king of the Philistines his soldiers to savePut jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their gravesPuts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slavesThen sends them out to the jungle.Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he bums out their campsWith his faithful slave Pedro behind him he trampsWith a fantastic collection of stampsTo win friends and influence his uncle. Mama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' for fuseI'm in troubleWith the tombstone blues.The geometry of innocence flesh on the boneCauses Galileo's math book to get thrownAt Delilah who sits worthlessly aloneBut the tears on her cheeks are from laughter.Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrillI would set him in chains at the top of the hillThen send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMilleHe could die happily ever after.Mama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' for fuseI'm in the kitchenWith the tombstone blues.Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed rollTuba players now rehearsal around the flagpoleAnd the National Bank at a profit sells road maps or the soulTo the old folks home in the college.Now I wish I could write you a melody so plainThat could hold you dear lady from going insaneThat could ease you and cool you and cease the painOf your useless and pointless knowledgeMama's in the fact'ryShe ain't got no shoesDaddy's in the alleyHe's lookin' for fuseI'm in the kitchen With the tombstone blues.




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