Tombstone Blues (Live at Sony Music Studios, New York, NY - November 1994) - Bob Dylan

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 looking for fuse

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 he 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 looking the fuse

I'm in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll

Tuba players now rehearsal around the flagpole

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

To the old folks home in the college

Now 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 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 looking for fuse

I'm in the kitchen

With the tombstone blues