Bob Dylan – Tombstone Blues (Guitar)

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The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course

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The city fathers they're trying to endorse

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The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse

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But the town has no need to be nervous

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The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits

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To Jezebel the nun she violently knits

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A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits

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At the head of the chamber of commerce

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

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The hysterical bride in the penny arcade

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Screaming she moans, "I've just been made"

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Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade

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And says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"

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Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside

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He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride

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"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride

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You will not die, it's not poison"

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

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Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief

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Looks up at his hero, the Commander-in-Chief

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Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief

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Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

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The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly

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Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"

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And dropping a barbell he points to the sky

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Saying, "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken"

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

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The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save

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Puts jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves

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Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves

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Then sends them out to the jungle

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Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps

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With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps

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With a fantastic collection of stamps

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To win friends and influence his uncle

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in troube with the tombstone blues

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The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone

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Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown

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At Delilah who's sitting worthlessly alone

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But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter

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Now, I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill

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I would set him in chains at the top of the hill

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Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille

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He could die happily ever after

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

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Where Ma Rainey and Beethoven once unwrapped their bedroll

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Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole

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And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul

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To the old folks home and the college

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Now, I wish I could write you a melody so plain

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That could hold you dear lady from going insane

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That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain

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Of your useless and pointless knowledge

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Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

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Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

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I am in the kitchen with the tombstone blues

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