Gordon Lightfoot Forums - The Wreck of the Bob Dylan Song Catalogue

sung to the tune of the Wreck:

hey woody guthrie i wrote you a song 'bout a funny old world that's a-coming
if you're traveling out in the north country fair where the winds hit heavy on the border
my name it means nothing my age it means less, the country is called the mid-west
i'm not looking to compete with you, beat or cheat or mistreat you
of war and of peace the truth just twists, it's curfew gull its gliding

selling postcards of the hanging, painting passports brown, beauty parlour's filled with sailors
when she said don't waste, you're words a just lies, i started to cry she was deaf
help me in my weakness i heard the drifter say as they carried him away from the courtroom
one more night, the stars are in site, tonight i'm as lonesome's can be

i went out last night just to take a little round, and i blew that little sadie right down
oh the benches were stained with tears and of sweat, and the birdies were flying through trees
there's guns across the river and they're aiming right at you, lawmen on trails trying to catch you
may god bless and keep you always, may your wishes come true, as you'd like them done to you

they sat together in the park as the evening got dark, she looked at him and felt a spark
hot chilli peppers in the blistering sun, with dust on my cape and my face
sixteen years, sixteen banners united, down there right over the fields
you may be an ambassador to england or france, you might like to gamble and dance

i was blinded by devils, born already ruined, stone cold dead, out the womb
prayed in the ghetto, my face in cement, seen the massacre of the innocent
look at your window, a scene you'd like to catch, bands playing dixie with their hands outstretched
i thought the rain it would cool things down, but it looks like to me that it won't

man named mahatma ghandi and he, wouldn't bow down he never would not fight
i stake my future on a hell of a past and it looks like tomorrow's coming fast
we live in political worlds where things like love don't have any place
there was a little boy and there was a little girl and they lived in an alley 'neath the red sky

let is pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears, and all sup sorrow to the poor
delia was a gambling girl and she gambled all around
i'm walking through streets that dead and, walking with you in my head
po boy neath the starts that shine, washing dishes and feeding them swine.