I'm just average, common too
|
I'm just like him, the same as you
|
I'm everybody's brother and son
|
I ain't different than anyone
|
It ain't no use a-talking to me
|
It's just the same as talking to you.
|
|
I was shadow-boxing earlier in the day
|
I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay
|
I said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay, here I come
|
26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mine
|
Five, four, three, two, one, Cassius Clay you'd better run
|
99, 100, 101, 102, your ma won't even recognize you
|
14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen."
|
|
Well, I don't know, but I've been told
|
The streets in heaven are lined with gold
|
I ask you how things could get much worse
|
If the Russians happen to get up there first.
|
Wowee' pretty scary!
|
|
Now, I'm liberal, but to a degree
|
I want ev'rybody to be free
|
But if you think that I'll let Barry Goldwater
|
Move in next door and marry my daughter
|
You must think I'm crazy!
|
I wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba.
|
|
Well, I set my monkey on the log
|
And ordered him to do the Dog
|
He wagged his tail and shook his head
|
And he went and did the Cat instead
|
He's a weird monkey, very funky.
|
|
I sat with my high-heeled sneakers on
|
Waiting to play tennis in the noonday sun
|
I had my white shorts rolled up past my waist
|
And my wig-hat was falling in my face
|
But they wouldn't let me on the tennis court.
|
|
I gotta woman, she's so mean
|
She sticks my boots in the washing machine
|
Sticks me with buckshot when I'm nude
|
Puts bubblegum in my food
|
She's funny, wants my money, calls me "honey."
|
|
Now I gotta friend who spends his life
|
Stabbing my picture with a bowie-knife
|
Dreams of strangling me with a scarf
|
When my name comes up he pretends to barf.
|
I've got a million friends!
|
|
Now they asked me to read a poem
|
At the sorority sister's home
|
I got knocked down and my head was swimmin'
|
I wound up with the Dean of Women
|
Yippee! I'm a poet, and I know it.
|
Hope I don't blow it.
|
|
I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strange
|
So I look like a walking mountain range
|
And I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horse
|
Out to the country club and the golf course.
|
Carry the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds.
|
|
Now you're probably wondering by now
|
Just what this song is all about
|
What's probably got you baffled more
|
Is what this thing here is for.
|
It's nothing
|
It's something I learned over in England.
|
|
-----------------
|
I Shall Be Free No.10
|
| Bob Dylan |
