歌曲名 Tombstone Blues (Take 1, Alternate Take)

歌手名 Bob Dylan

作词：Bob Dylan

作曲：Bob Dylan

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 caring our feels

Daddy's in the alley ain't got no shoes

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

And now 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

Daddy's in the fact'ry

Ain't got no shoes

Mama's in the alley

She's lyin' the feels

I'm in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues

Well black miss with fre gose 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 that whimper and cry

And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky

Saying the sun's not yellow it's chicken

Mama's in the kitchen

She ain't wearing no shoes

Daddy's in the fact'ry

He's lying feels

I'm in the alley

I ain't not who

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

Daddy's in the fact'ry

Wearing no shoes

Mama's in the alley

She's lying the feels

I'm in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone

It's Galileo's math book is 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 kitchen

She ain't wearing no shoes

Daddy's in the alley

He's lying the feels

I'm in the fact'ry

With the tombstone blues

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll

Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole

And the National Bank selling road maps for the soul

To the old folks' home in the college

I wish I could write you a melody so plain

That could hold you dear lady from going insane

That could cool you and ease and cease the pain

Of your pointless and useless knowledge

Daddy's in the kitchen

He ain't got no shoes

Mama's on the fact'ry

She's lying the feels

I'm in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues