BOB DYLAN: "Love and Theft"

The new Bob Dylan album, "Love and Theft" will be released on 11 September 2001.

Please visit Artur J.'s great website with special information to the songs.

http://www.republika.pl/bobdylan/lat/index.html

"The LYRICS presented here have been transcribed by ear, and are bound to include some mishearings.
If you can provide more lyrics, information, corrections, opinions, etc. 
please contact me at: bobdylan@poczta.onet.pl " (Artur J)

Thanks to Artur!


Po' Boy
(words and music by Bob Dylan. Copyright (c)2001 Special Rider Music)

Man came to the door, I say, “For whom are you lookin’?”
He says, “Your wife.” I say, “She’s busy in the kitchen cookin’.”
Po’ boy, where you been?
I already told you, won’t tell you again.

I say, “How much you want for that?” I go into the store,
Man says, “Three dollars.” “All right,” I say, “Will you take four?”
Po’ boy, never say die,
Things will be all right by and by.

Workin’ late on the main line, working like a devil,
The game is the same, it’s just up on another level.
Po’ boy, dressed in black,
Police at your back.

Po’ boy in a red hot town, out beyond the twinklin’ stars,
Ridin’ first class trains, makin’ the rounds,
Tryin’ to keep from fallin’ between the cars…

Othello told Desdemona, “I’m cold, cover me with a blanket,
By the way, what happened to that poisoned wine?”
She said, “I gave it to you, [you] drank it.”
Po’ boy, layin’ him straight,
Pickin’ up the cherries fallin’ off the plate.

Time unloved is brandin’ me with its claws
Had to go to Florida dodgin’ them Georgia laws.
Po’ boy, in the hotel called The Palace of Gloom,
Call down to room service, says “Send up a room.”

My mother was a daughter of a wealthy farmer,
My father was a travelin’ salesman, I never met him.
When my mother died, my uncle took me and he ran a funeral parlor.
He did a lot of nice things for me and I won’t forget him.

All I know is that I’m thrilled by your kiss,
I don’t know any more than this.
Po’ boy, pickin’ up sticks,
Build you a house out of mortar and bricks.

Knockin’ on the door, I said, “Who’s it, where you from?”
Man said, “Freddie.”  I said, “Freddie who?” He said, “Freddie or not, here
I come!”
Po’ boy, ‘neath the stars that shine,
Washin’ them dishes, feedin’ them swine.