Jerry Jeff Walker - The Ballad Of The Hulk Lyrics
The cycle of life is hereTo see in all of its fine simplicityBut the way we live it seems to be,Something very weird to meAnd I cry outFor pettiness like lady's chatterSeems to complicate the matterI grit my teeth as my senses chatterFor nothing gets me much madderAs I leap outFor big or little, great or small,It really doesn't matter at allThe way we shuffle our feet and hem and haw,'Cause everybody's afraid they'll fallOr else be left outBut what's right for me or strange to youShouldn't make a damn on what you do'Cause whether or not you make it through,I thought that you already knewThat I'll keep you goingAnd the World War III and the World SeriesWill make the same size headlines in the newsFrom all I've seen of politics,It's just a greasy big money stickThat's geared to run on tonguesSo slick to make you think this is all there isBoy you're lucky (You're stuck with Humphrey)How they con the little middle manInto thinkin' he has got a handTo play in the future of the Promised Land,he owes himself to the destiny of manGets ridiculousA cheap gangster hires someoneTo do his dirty work with a tommy gunWhile the President just points at anyoneAnd says "I, your country needs some killing doneGo do it now boy"The war itself is bad enough,It can break you down no matter how toughBut the tragedy of all the hoopla stuff,It makes you think you can't do enoughFor the shiny symbolsAnd the other countries feel the same as weAnd regret that I have but one country to give for my lifeThe preacher stands in his holy shroud sayin'"God forgives you if you do it now"But if you come back when the chips are down,You'll find they've all gone undergroundTo pray for youA homosexual, disturbed priest feels that he can preach to meThe right way to go and raise a familyAnd I'm forced to look at him and say "you meanYou're guessin"The population is getting higher,The poverty poor, the pregnant tiredAre waiting on the Pope to be inspiredFor some new contraceptive attireSaying "It's cool now"It's a ghost behind a one-way mirrorListening tip-toed at the door to hearIf someone outside won't speak the yearThen they'll slip a note out how they feelAbout pierced ear-lobesBut the rules made nowFor the changing cowsAre a little lateAnd will be out of date by tomorrowHer mother placed on virginitySaying it was the holy place to beFor the things boys had were evilryWhen it came time for matrimonyShe froze and died thereHer sister at fourteen very well known thought all the kicks came lying there proneBut a fundamental fact not spoken at home left her feeling like a chewed on boneAnd why she wonderedOne chick who dug moving about, very liberal minded and often spoke outHow she was cool and understood no doubt with the blankets up and the lights turned outAnd you're condescendingA couple together for five or six years,A marriage license they'd never been nearBut social pressure and loss of job fearGot them married and divorced in half a yearThey couldn't cut itIt's all talked aboutBut still it's lived aroundAnd what is right for meCould be perversity in any state law bookI'm told a minstrel at one time wAs allowed to sing and make his rhymesTo comment on the news of the timesAnd say directly what's in people's mindsAnd he made tips for itBut today try playing on some street curb,Singin' the news in everyday wordsThe people pass by, the laughin' is heardOr else they hit you where it hurtsThey keep their ears closedOne man said "Boy, I dig your stuff,I want you to come play in my clubI'll put your name in lights up above,But just remember I got a club to runSo don't be too strong"It ain't your writers who sell out,It's the damn censors who turn aboutMy life learned adjectives and vowelsAnd say that my mouth is much too foulTo clearly speak to youBut try to hit a nail and if the hammer failsThen the words you use to describeThat bruise is basic languageI hoboed around and sang the songsThat everybody knew and hummed alongTo amuse myself I wrote some songs, talkin'About things that could be right or wrongAnd I'm a little differentA record company you know well wanted to know if my song would sellI said, "Yes, I like it very well,If you don't sir, you can go to help"Somebody else changeSo I kept playin' and bummin' around, singin'To the ones who dug my soundSome guys ask "Won't you play my town",I ask fair bread they put me downTheir Caddie's mortgagedTried one deal, like "it's you and me",This guy said he could be of some use to meBut when I found he's puttin' screws to me,I tipped my hat and made it back to the streetSingin' new folk songsIf there's time enough,The hill ain't too roughWhat I wrote today,I might someday play,And make tips for it
