Folk music is the High Life whereby we listen to Andy Kershaw all day, playing the roadside African band whose instruments, home made, sound still great. It's the Cheka learning about communism. Folk music is the Genuine LEather.5 responses total.
Crimson flames tied through my ears Rollin' high and mighty traps Pounced with fire on flaming roads Using ideas as my maps "We'll meet on edges, soon," said I Proud 'neath heated brow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth "Rip down all hate," I screamed Lies that life is black and white Spoke from my skull. I dreamed Romantic facts of musketeers Foundationed deep, somehow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Girls' faces formed the forward path From phony jealousy To memorizing politics Of ancient history Flung down by corpse evangelists Unthought of, though, somehow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. A self-ordained professor's tongue Too serious to fool Spouted out that liberty Is just equality in school "Equality," I spoke the word As if a wedding vow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand At the mongrel dogs who teach Fearing not that I'd become my enemy In the instant that I preach My pathway led by confusion boats Mutiny from stern to bow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats Too noble to neglect Deceived me into thinking I had something to protect Good and bad, I define these terms Quite clear, no doubt, somehow. Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. Copyright 1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music
When I was 19, I was young, I was keen, And I had just one burning ambition: To be a folk singer, a dope-smoking swinger Singing songs that were full of tradition. So I bought a guitar and I practiced real hard I wasn't much good, but I was willin' But to my chagrin, my girlfriend came in and she said, "Can you sing any Dylan?" I said no, no, a thousand times no I'd rather see my life blood spillin' I'll sing anything, even God Save the King But I just won't sing any Bob Dylan. - Eric Bogle (and that's just the first verse, mate)
Subterranean Homesick Blues by Bob Dylan Johnny's in the basement Mixing up the medicine I'm on the pavement Thinking about the government The man in the trench coat Badge out, laid off Says he's got a bad cough Wants to get it paid off Look out kid It's somethin' you did God knows when But you're doing it again You better duck down the alleyway Lookin' for a new friend The man in the coonskin cap In the big pen Wants eleven dollar bills But you only got ten Maggie comes fleet foot Face full of black soot Talkin' that the heat put Plants in the bed but The phone's tapped anyway Maggie says that many say They must bust in early May Orders from the D.A. Look out kid Don't matter what you did Walk on your tip toes Don't try "No Doz" Better stay away from those That carry around a fire hose Keep a clean nose Watch the plain clothes You don't need a weather man To know which way the wind blows Get sick, get well Hang around a ink well Ring bell, hard to tell If anything is goin' to sell Try hard, get barred Get back, write braille Get jailed, jump bail Join the army, if you fail Look out kid You're gonna get hit But users, cheaters Six-time losers Hang around the theaters Girl by the whirlpool Lookin' for a new fool Don't follow leaders Watch the parkin' meters Ah get born, keep warm Short pants, romance, learn to dance Get dressed, get blessed Try to be a success Please her, please him, buy gifts Don't steal, don't lift Twenty years of schoolin' And they put you on the day shift Look out kid They keep it all hid Better jump down a manhole Light yourself a candle Don't wear sandals Try to avoid the scandals Don't wanna be a bum You better chew gum The pump don't work 'Cause the vandals took the handles
Simon and Garfunkel Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme (1966) A Simple Desultory Philippic (or How I was Robert McNamara'd into Submission) I been Norman Mailered, Maxwell Taylored. I been John O'Hara'd, McNamara'd. I been Rolling Stoned and Beatled till I'm blind. I been Ayn Randed, nearly branded Communist, 'cause I'm left-handed. That's the hand I use, well, never mind! I been Phil Spectored, resurrected. I been Lou Adlered, Barry Sadlered. Well, I paid all the dues I want to pay. And I learned the truth from Lenny Bruce, And all my wealth won't buy me health, So I smoke a pint of tea a day. I knew a man, his brain was so small, He couldn't think of nothing at all. He's not the same as you and me. He doesn't dig poetry. He's so unhip that When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas, Whoever he was. The man ain't got no culture, But it's alright, ma, Everybody must get stoned. I been Mick Jaggered, silver daggered. Andy Warhol, won't you please come home? I been mothered, fathered, aunt and uncled, Been Roy Haleed and Art Garfunkeled. I just discovered somebody's tapped my phone.
Definitely one of the more venemous Dylan parodies out there..
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