Tombstone Blues - Tim O'Brien

Tombstone Blues - Tim O'Brien

Альбом
Red On Blonde
Год
2005
Язык
`English`
Длительность
222560

Below is the lyrics of the song Tombstone Blues , artist - Tim O'Brien with translation

Lyrics " Tombstone Blues "

Original text with translation

Tombstone Blues

Tim O'Brien

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course

The city fathers they’re trying to endorse

The reincarnation of Paul Revere’s horse

But the town has no need to be nervous.

The ghost of Belle Star she hands down her wits

To Jezebel the nun she violently knits

A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits

At the head of the chamber of commerce.

Mama’s in the fact’ry

She ain’t got no shoes

Daddy’s in the alley

He’s lookin' for food.

And I’m in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues.

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade

Screaming she moans, «I've just been made»

Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade

Says, «My advice is to not let the boys in».

Now the medicine man comes and shuffles inside

He walks with a swagger and he says to be bride

«Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride

You will not die, it’s not poison».

Mama’s in the fact’ry

She ain’t got no shoes

Daddy’s in the alley

He’s lookin' for food.

And I’m in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues.

The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone

Causes Galileo’s math book to get thrown

At Delilah who’s sitting worthlessly alone

But the tears on her cheeks they’re from laughter.

I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill

I would set him in chains at the top of the hill

Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille

He could die happily ever after.

Mama’s in the fact’ry

She ain’t got no shoes

Daddy’s in the alley

He’s lookin' for food.

And I’m in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues.

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll

Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole

And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul

To the old folks home and the college.

I wish I could write you a melody so plain

That could hold you dear lady from going insane

That could ease you and cool you and cease all the pain

Of your useless and pointless knowledge

Mama’s in the fact’ry

She ain’t got no shoes

Daddy’s in the alley

He’s lookin' for food

And I’m in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues.

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