Workingman’s Blues #2

Written by: Bob Dylan
There’s an evening’s haze settling over the town
Starlight by the edge of the creek
The buying power of the proletariat’s gone down
Money’s getting shallow and weak
The place I love best is a sweet memory
It’s a new path that we trod
They say low wages are a reality
If we want to compete abroad

My cruel weapons been laid back on the shelf
Come and sit down on my knee
You are dearer to me than myself
As you yourself can see
I’m listening to the steel rails hum
Got both eyes tight shut
I’m just trying to keep the hunger from
Creepin’ its way into my gut

Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind
Bring me my boots and shoes
You can hang back or fight your best on the front line
Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues

I’m sailing on back getting ready for the long haul
Leaving everything behind
If I stay here I’ll lose it all
The bandits will rob me blind
I’m trying to feed my soul with thought
Gonna sleep off the rest of the day
Sometimes nobody wants what you got
Sometimes you can’t give it away

I woke up this morning and sprang to my feet
Went into town on a whim
I saw my father there in the street
At least I think it was him
In the dark I hear the night birds call
The hills are rugged and steep
I sleep in the kitchen with my feet in the hall
If I told you my whole story you’d weep

Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind
Bring me my boots and shoes
You can hang back or fight your best on the front line
Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues

They burned my barn and they stole my horse
I can’t save a dime
It’s a long way down and I don’t want to be forced
Into a life of continual crime
I can see for myself that the sun is sinking
O’er the banks of the deep blue sea
Tell me, am I wrong in thinking
That you have forgotten me

Now they worry and they hurry and they fuss and they fret
They waste your nights and days
Them, I will forget
You, I’ll remember always
It’s a cold black night and it’s midsummer’s eve
And the stars are spinning around
I still find it so hard to believe
That someone would kick me when I’m down

Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind
Bring me my boots and shoes
You can hang back or fight your best on the front line
Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues

I’ll be back home in a month or two
When the frost is on the vine
I’ll punch my spear right straight through
Half-ways down your spine
I’ll lift up my arms to the starry skies
And pray the fugitive’s prayer
I’m guessing tomorrow the sun will rise
I hope the final judgment’s fair

The battle is over up in the hills
And the mist is closing in
Look at me, with all of my spoils
What did I ever win?
Gotta brand new suit and a brand new wife
I can live on rice and beans
Some people never worked a day in their life
They don’t know what work even means

Meet me at the bottom, don’t lag behind
Bring me my boots and shoes
You can hang back or fight your best on the front line Sing a little bit of these workingman’s blues

Copyright

© 2006 Special Rider Music