Tombstone Blues

Bob DylanBuy this song

Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan ( /ˈdɪlən/; born Robert Allen Zimmerman; May 24, 1941) is an American singer-songwriter, musician, author, poet and artist. He has been an influential figure in popular music and culture for more than five decades. Much of his most celebrated work dates from the 1960s when he was an in… more »

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 factory, 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 factory, 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 factory, 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 factory, 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 innocence, 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 factory, 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 bedroll 
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 

Now, 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 factory, 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, oh right

Written by: B. DYLAN

Lyrics © BOB DYLAN MUSIC CO

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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"Tombstone Blues Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2017. Web. 28 Jun 2017. <http://www.lyrics.com/lyric/1992113>.

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Tombstone Blues