 |
|
6:28 | 
|
||
| from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999) | |||||
|
|
5:51 | 
|
||
|
from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999)
You may be an ambassador to England or France, You may like to gamble, you might like to dance, You may be the heavyweight champion of the world, You may be a socialite with a long string of pearls But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. You might be a rock 'n' roll addict prancing on the stage, You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage, You may be a business man or some high degree thief, They may call you Doctor or they may call you Chief But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. You may be a state trooper, you might be a young Turk, You may be the head of some big TV network, You may be rich or poor, you may be blind or lame, You may be living in another country under another name But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. You may be a construction worker working on a home, You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome, You might own guns and you might even own tanks, You might be somebody's landlord, you might even own banks But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. You may be a preacher with your spiritual pride, You may be a city councilman taking bribes on the side, You may be workin' in a barbershop, you may know how to cut hair, You may be somebody's mistress, may be somebody's heir But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. Might like to wear cotton, might like to wear silk, Might like to drink whiskey, might like to drink milk, You might like to eat caviar, you might like to eat bread, You may be sleeping on the floor, sleeping in a king-sized bed But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody, Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. You may call me Terry, you may call me Timmy, You may call me Bobby, you may call me Zimmy, You may call me R.J., you may call me Ray, You may call me anything but no matter what you say You're gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed You're gonna have to serve somebody. Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody. |
|||||
|
|
4:04 |
|
||
|
from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999)
The guilty undertaker sighs, The lonesome organ grinder cries, The silver saxophones say I should refuse you. The cracked bells and washed-out horns Blow into my face with scorn, But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. The drunken politician leaps Upon the street where mothers weep And the saviors who are fast asleep, They wait for you. And I wait for them to interrupt Me drinkin' from my broken cup And ask me to Open up the gate for you. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. Now all my fathers, they've gone down True love they've been without it. But all their daughters put me down 'Cause I don't think about it. Well, I return to the Queen of Spades And talk with my chambermaid. She knows that I'm not afraid To look at her. She is good to me And there's nothing she doesn't see. She knows where I'd like to be But it doesn't matter. I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit, He spoke to me, I took his flute. No, I wasn't very cute to him, Was I? But I did it, though, because he lied Because he took you for a ride And because time was on his side And because I . . . I want you, I want you, I want you so bad, Honey, I want you. |
|||||
|
|
9:13 |
|
||
|
from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999)
Born in Red Hook, Brooklyn, in the year of who knows when Opened up his eyes to the tune of an accordion Always on the outside of whatever side there was When they asked him why it had to be that way, "Well," he answered, "just because." Larry was the oldest, Joey was next to last. They called Joe "Crazy," the baby they called "Kid Blast." Some say they lived off gambling and runnin' numbers too. It always seemed they got caught between the mob and the men in blue. Joey, Joey, King of the streets, child of clay. Joey, Joey, What made them want to come and blow you away? There was talk they killed their rivals, but the truth was far from that No one ever knew for sure where they were really at. When they tried to strangle Larry, Joey almost hit the roof. He went out that night to seek revenge, thinkin' he was bulletproof. The war broke out at the break of dawn, it emptied out the streets Joey and his brothers suffered terrible defeats Till they ventured out behind the lines and took five prisoners. They stashed them away in a basement, called them amateurs. The hostages were tremblin' when they heard a man exclaim, "Let's blow this place to kingdom come, let Con Edison take the blame." But Joey stepped up, he raised his hand, said, "We're not those kind of men. It's peace and quiet that we need to go back to work again." Joey, Joey, King of the streets, child of clay. Joey, Joey, What made them want to come and blow you away? The police department hounded him, they called him Mr. Smith They got him on conspiracy, they were never sure who with. "What time is it?" said the judge to Joey when they met "Five to ten," said Joey. The judge says, "That's exactly what you get." He did ten years in Attica, reading Nietzsche and Wilhelm Reich They threw him in the hole one time for tryin' to stop a strike. His closest friends were black men 'cause they seemed to understand What it's like to be in society with a shackle on your hand. When they let him out in '71 he'd lost a little weight But he dressed like Jimmy Cagney and I swear he did look great. He tried to find the way back into the life he left behind To the boss he said, "I have returned and now I want what's mine." Joey, Joey, King of the streets, child of clay. Joey, Joey, Why did they have to come and blow you away? It was true that in his later years he would not carry a gun "I'm around too many children," he'd say, "they should never know of one." Yet he walked right into the clubhouse of his lifelong deadly foe, Emptied out the register, said, "Tell 'em it was Crazy Joe." One day they blew him down in a clam bar in New York He could see it comin' through the door as he lifted up his fork. He pushed the table over to protect his family Then he staggered out into the streets of Little Italy. Joey, Joey, King of the streets, child of clay. Joey, Joey, What made them want to come and blow you away? Sister Jacqueline and Carmela and mother Mary all did weep. I heard his best friend Frankie say, "He ain't dead, he's just asleep." Then I saw the old man's limousine head back towards the grave I guess he had to say one last goodbye to the son that he could not save. The sun turned cold over President Street and the town of Brooklyn mourned They said a mass in the old church near the house where he was born. And someday if God's in heaven overlookin' His preserve I know the men that shot him down will get what they deserve. Joey, Joey, King of the streets, child of clay. Joey, Joey, What made them want to come and blow you away? |
|||||
|
|
6:53 |
|
||
| from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999) | |||||
|
|
6:39 |
|
||
|
from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999)
When your mother sends back all your invitations And your father to your sister he explains That you're tired of yourself and all of your creations Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all of the flower ladies want back what they have lent you And the smell of their roses does not remain And all of your children start to resent you Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all the clowns that you have commissioned Have died in battle or in vain And you're sick of all this repetition Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? When all of your advisers heave their plastic At your feet to convince you of your pain Trying to prove that your conclusions should be more drastic Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Now when all the bandits that you turned your other cheek to All lay down their bandanas and complain And you want somebody you don't have to speak to Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? Won't you come see me, Queen Jane? |
|||||
|
|
4:57 |
|
||
|
from Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan, Grateful Dead - Dylan & The Dead (1999)
Sometimes I feel so low-down and disgusted Can't help but wonder what's happenin' to my companions, Are they lost or are they found, have they counted the cost it'll take to bring down All their earthly principles they're gonna have to abandon? There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. I had a woman down in Alabama, She was a backwoods girl, but she sure was realistic, She said, "Boy, without a doubt, have to quit your mess and straighten out, You could die down here, be just another accident statistic." There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. All that foreign oil controlling American soil, Look around you, it's just bound to make you embarrassed. Sheiks walkin' around like kings, wearing fancy jewels and nose rings, Deciding America's future from Amsterdam and to Paris And there's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. Man's ego is inflated, his laws are outdated, they don't apply no more, You can't rely no more to be standin' around waitin' In the home of the brave, Jefferson turnin' over in his grave, Fools glorifying themselves, trying to manipulate Satan And there's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. Big-time negotiators, false healers and woman haters, Masters of the bluff and masters of the proposition But the enemy I see wears a cloak of decency, All non-believers and men stealers talkin' in the name of religion And there's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. People starving and thirsting, grain elevators are bursting Oh, you know it costs more to store the food than it do to give it. They say lose your inhibitions, follow your own ambitions, They talk about a life of brotherly love, show me someone who knows how to live it. There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. Well, my baby went to Illinois with some bad-talkin' boy she could destroy A real suicide case, but there was nothin' I could do to stop it, I don't care about economy, I don't care about astronomy But it sure do bother me to see my loved ones turning into puppets, There's a slow, slow train comin' up around the bend. |
|||||
|
