| Lyrics: | by Bob Dylan
I'll sing you a song, ain't very long,
'Bout an old man who never done
wrong.
How he died nobody can say,
They found him dead in the street one
day.
Well, the crowd, they gathered one fine morn,
At the man whose clothes 'n'
shoes were torn.
There on the sidewalk he did lay,
They stopped 'n' stared 'n' walked
their way.
Well, the p'liceman come and he looked around,
"Get up, old man, or I'm
a-takin' you down."
He jabbed him once with his billy club
And the old man then rolled off
the curb.
Well, he jabbed him again and loudly said,
"Call the wagon; this man is
dead."
The wagon come, they loaded him in,
I never saw the man again.
I've sung
you my song, it ain't very long,
'Bout an old man who never done wrong.
How he died no one
can say,
They found him dead in the street one day |
