Bob Dylan lyrics
Bob Dylan lyrics
"Days Of 49 lyrics"
Life's A Bitch lyrics
(Neal Schon, Johnny Gioeli, Joey Gioeli) Alright Here comes daddy with the strap again, toward my backside with the boggled end Sing it - yeah, yeah, yeah - life's a bitch, yeah He said I'll teach you something by the back of my hand School can't teach you how to fight like a man
I'm old Tom Moore from the bummer's shore in that good old golden days(Neal Schon, Johnny Gioeli, Joey Gioeli) Alright Here comes daddy with the strap again, toward my backside with the boggled end Sing it - yeah, yeah, yeah - life's a bitch, yeah He said I'll teach you something by the back of my hand School can't teach you how to fight like a man
They call me a bummer and a ginsot too, but what cares I for praise ?
I wander around from town to town just like a roving sign
And all the people say, "There goes Tom Moore, in the days of '49"
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
My comrades they all loved me well, a jolly saucy crew
A few hard cases I will recall though they all were brave and true
Whatever the pitch they never would flinch, they never would fret o
Cut Number 7 lyrics
I wrote a song That everyone loved With an acoustic guitar And a rhyming thesauras And I found an angle That no one had thought of The story wrapped in an undeniable chorus And everyone fell in love with that song It must be the way that the melodyr whine
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob Stein
And over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
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Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad desi
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
Of the comrades all that I've had, there's none that's left to boast
And I'm left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign
"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
I wrote a song That everyone loved With an acoustic guitar And a rhyming thesauras And I found an angle That no one had thought of The story wrapped in an undeniable chorus And everyone fell in love with that song It must be the way that the melody
Like good old bricks they stood the kicks in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was New York Jake, the butcher boy, he was always getting tight
And every time that he'd get full he was spoiling for a fight
But Jake rampaged against a knife in the hands of old Bob Stein
And over Jake they held a wake in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
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Burned Up lyrics
Burned up, my throat is ripped open, I can't sing, I can not scream, havin' hard times, fall asleep Remind me, I keep my spirits high, it always could be worse, right destiny, my own life Save me the daylight, bring me home in this bus I call my own, best friends I've ever known
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There was Poker Bill, one of the boys who was always in a gameBurned up, my throat is ripped open, I can't sing, I can not scream, havin' hard times, fall asleep Remind me, I keep my spirits high, it always could be worse, right destiny, my own life Save me the daylight, bring me home in this bus I call my own, best friends I've ever known
Whether he lost or whether he won, to him it was always the same
He would ante up and draw his cards and he would you go a hatful blind
In the game with death Bill lost his breath, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
There was Ragshag Bill from Buffalo, I never will forget
He would roar all day and he'd roar all night and I guess he's roaring yet
One day he fell in a prospect hole, in a roaring bad desi
Swamphell lyrics
Watery rubber bootsOn the field of mossInside the boots weary legsOf the man I always meetSwamp full of mistIcy embraceNothing left ofSense of directionChorus:SwamphellKill me, let me sink in your lapOnce was the air crystal clearSecular joys were
gnWatery rubber bootsOn the field of mossInside the boots weary legsOf the man I always meetSwamp full of mistIcy embraceNothing left ofSense of directionChorus:SwamphellKill me, let me sink in your lapOnce was the air crystal clearSecular joys were
And in that hole he roared out his soul, in the days of '49
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.
Of the comrades all that I've had, there's none that's left to boast
And I'm left alone in my misery like some poor wandering ghost
And I pass by from town to town, they call me a rambling sign
"There goes Tom Moore, a bummer shore in the days of '49 "
In the days of old, in the days of gold
How oft'times I repine for the days of old
When we dug up the gold, in the days of '49.