LetraTombstone Blues

Bob Dylan

Última atualização em: 22 de dezembro de 2020

The sweet, pretty things are in bed now, of course The city fathers they're trying to endorse The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse

But the town has no need to be nervous The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands down her wits To Jezebel the nun, she violently knits A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits At the head of the Chamber of Commerce Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues The hysterical bride in the penny arcade Screaming she moans, "I've just been made" Then sends out for the doctor, who pulls down the shade And says, "My advice is to not let the boys in" Now, the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride "Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride You will not die, it's not poison" Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief Looks up at his hero, the Commander-in-Chief Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please, make it brief Is there a hole for me to get sick in?" The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry" And dropping a barbell he points to the sky Saying, "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken" Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save Puts jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves Then sends them out to the jungle Gypsy Davey, with a blowtorch he burns out their camps With his faithful slave Pedro behind him, he tramps With a fantastic collection of stamps To win friends and influence his uncle Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in trouble with the tombstone blues The geometry of innocent, flesh on the bone Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown At Delilah, who's sitting worthlessly alone But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill I would set him in chains at the top of the hill Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille He could die happily ever after Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul To the old folks home and the college I wish I could write you a melody so plain That could hold you, dear lady, from going insane That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain Of your useless and pointless knowledge Mama's in the fact'ry, she ain't got no shoes Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues Alright

  • 38

Atividades mais recentes

Última edição porKarol Bartusiak
Sincronizada porGerard Savage
Traduzido pormohammad akbari

Musixmatch para Spotify e
Apple Music agora está disponível para
seu computador

Baixe agora