Lyrics:
at your medulla oblongata
Blaow blaow, a young thug with a slim figure
Romantic type like the movie Casablanca
Herb seller, once but busted by an undercover
Once there was a gypsy man
Selling flowers from a baker's van
Bess she pulled him round the town
Pulled her wagon all old and brown
Till one day we
above the barren trees
Were his only audience
Them charcoal gypsy maidens
Can strut their feathers well
But nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie
you can [?]
Watch the particles collide
And trust the stars up in the sky!
Sand that's gone, snatched by the storm
Are the poles really shifting?
There's an old Gypsy Moth
Made of glue and cloth
That lands in a horse filled field
An unusual event for those palomino gents
Who just stared
a gypsy I was born to roam
Like a wanderer with no fixed abode
I think about the friends I've left behind on the road
Well, the road's been rocky
(Reg Mombassa)
I'm not a gypsy or a clown
Cause I don't want to live in every town
I don't want everything I see
I just want one girl
She won't
The gypsy woman told my mama
On the day I was born
Oh, you got a boy child comin'
Oh Lord, he's gonna be a son of a gun
He's gonna make those
I've been hypnotized by a Gypsy Lover
Been sucker punched hard by a redneck mother
Been plagiarized by my own damn brother
Hey man, I think that's
In a field by a river
My love and I did lie
And on my naked shoulder
She too proud to cry
She said that I must leave her
An icy tear she froze
How
never follow
No I, I could never follow
I hit the highway in a pink RV with stars on the ceiling
Lived like a gypsy
Six strong hands on the steering
many.
The ordinary miracle.
A common kind of miracle that runs right by
or maybe it's too gradual to catch your eye
so you miss it.
A sudden bolt
Our lives are hanging in the balance
Or they're dangling by a thread
A spark of life brought down from an angel
To raise the stranger from
Gypsy woman told my mother 'fore I was born,
You got a boy-child coming, gonna be a son of a gun.
Gonna make pretty women's jump and shout,
And then
You can breathe in the music the city makes
Move by the rhythm the Gypsies play
Deep inside it comes alive.
There is a whisper that feeds your
we come close the answer's always the same
I guess some souls get restless under the skin
There's a shortage by half of marrying men
You know that
For all that he retains
By the harbour lights of Sydney
Or the Bora Bora moon
He recites his sad confession
To the seagulls and the loons
And if they turn out good enough
I owe every word to you
To the man and the woman who threw me a glance
As they picnicked by the sea
And returned
to get off all my work even though they complained every time
Always had the gift of gab
Before Uber we'll hop out, take off on the gypsy cab
Hop
I'm a fool when love's at stake
Because I can't conceal emotion
What I'm feeling's always written on my face
There's a gypsy down on Bleecker Street
I
Innocence tainted by pure lunacy
Cursed by the slash of a shape-shifting beast
Oh no, this can't be
Demonic infection, a doomed changeling
His
Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More
Scott Isbell in loving memory of Gregg Allman
Lyrics and Music by Gregg Allman
Originally performed by the Allman Brothers
making happy rhymes
Chorus
You might like the gypsy life
You judge your progress by the phases of the moon
Get your compass and your sharpest knife
As I sit in my chair and watch life go by
These thoughts I have, I can't mold the sense
Through the forest of my mind, they're all past tense
Born
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