Bob Dylan - I Shall Be Free No. 10 Lyrics
Im just average, common tooIm just like him, the same as youIm everybodys brother and sonI aint different from anyoneIt aint no use a-talking to meIts just the same as talking to you.I was shadow-boxing earlier in the dayI figured I was ready for cassius clayI said fee, fie, fo, fum, cassius clay, here I come26, 27, 28, 29, Im gonna make your face look just like mineFive, four, three, two, one, cassius clay youd better run99, 100, 101, 102, your ma wont even recognize you14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen.Well, I dont know, but Ive been toldThe streets in heaven are lined with goldI ask you how things could get much worseIf the russians happen to get up there first.Wowee pretty scary!Now, Im liberal, but to a degreeI want evrybody to be freeBut if you think that Ill let barry goldwaterMove in next door and marry my daughterYou must think Im crazy!I wouldnt let him do it for all the farms in cuba.Well, I set my monkey on the logAnd ordered him to do the dogHe wagged his tail and shook his headAnd he went and did the cat insteadHes a weird monkey, very funky.I sat with my high-heeled sneakers onWaiting to play tennis in the noonday sunI had my white shorts rolled up past my waistAnd my wig-hat was falling in my faceBut they wouldnt let me on the tennis court.I gotta woman, shes so meanShe sticks my boots in the washing machineSticks me with buckshot when Im *****Puts bubblegum in my foodShes funny, wants my money, calls me honey.Now I gotta friend who spends his lifeStabbing my picture with a bowie-knifeDreams of strangling me with a scarfWhen my name comes up he pretends to barf.Ive got a million friends!Now they asked me to read a poemAt the sorority sisters homeI got knocked down and my head was swimminI wound up with the dean of womenYippee! Im a poet, and I know it.Hope I dont blow it.Im gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strangeSo I look like a walking mountain rangeAnd Im gonna ride into omaha on a horseOut to the country club and the golf course.Carry the new york times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds.Now youre probably wondering by nowJust what this song is all aboutWhats probably got you baffled moreIs what this thing here is for.Its nothingIts something I learned over in england.
