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作词 : Dylan |
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I’m just average, common too |
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I’m just like him, the same as you |
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I’m everybody’s brother and son |
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I ain’t different from anyone |
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It ain’t no use a-talking to me |
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It’s just the same as talking to you |
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I was shadow-boxing earlier in the day |
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I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay |
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I said “Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come |
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26, 27, 28, 29, I’m gonna make your face look just like mine |
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Five, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you’d better run |
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99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won’t even recognize you |
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14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen” |
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Well, I don’t know, but I’ve been told |
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The streets in heaven are lined with gold |
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I ask you how things could get much worse |
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If the Russians happen to get up there first |
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Wowee! pretty scary! |
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Now, I’m liberal, but to a degree |
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I want ev’rybody to be free |
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But if you think that I’ll let Barry Goldwater |
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Move in next door and marry my daughter |
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You must think I’m crazy! |
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I wouldn’t let him do it for all the farms in Cuba |
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Well, I set my monkey on the log |
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And ordered him to do the Dog |
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He wagged his tail and shook his head |
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And he went and did the Cat instead |
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He’s a weird monkey, very funky |
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I sat with my high-heeled sneakers on |
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Waiting to play tennis in the noonday sun |
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I had my white shorts rolled up past my waist |
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And my wig-hat was falling in my face |
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But they wouldn’t let me on the tennis court |
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I got a woman, she’s so mean |
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She sticks my boots in the washing machine |
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Sticks me with buckshot when I’m nude |
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Puts bubblegum in my food |
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She’s funny, wants my money, calls me “honey” |
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Now I got a friend who spends his life |
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Stabbing my picture with a bowie knife |
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Dreams of strangling me with a scarf |
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When my name comes up he pretends to barf |
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I’ve got a million friends! |
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|
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Now they asked me to read a poem |
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At the sorority sisters’ home |
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I got knocked down and my head was swimmin’ |
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I wound up with the Dean of Women |
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Yippee! I’m a poet, and I know it |
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Hope I don’t blow it |
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I’m gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strange |
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So I look like a walking mountain range |
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And I’m gonna ride into Omaha on a horse |
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Out to the country club and the golf course |
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Carry The New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds |
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Now you’re probably wondering by now |
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Just what this song is all about |
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What’s probably got you baffled more |
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Is what this thing here is for |
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It’s nothing |
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It’s something I learned over in England |
