| Lyrics: | by Bob Dylan
Well, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.
The poor
little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed
On the very next day, with a nose full of
pus.
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and
a bottle of bread
It's a one-track town, just brown, and a breeze, too,
Pack up the
meat, sweet, we're headin' out
For Wichita in a pile of fruit.
Get the loot, don't be
slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Get
the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout
Now, pull that drummer out from behind
that bottle.
Bring me my pipe, we're gonna shake it.
Slap that drummer with a pie that
smells.
Take me down to California, baby
Take me down to California, baby
Take me
down to California, baby
Yes, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.
The
poor little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed
On the very next day, with a nose full of
pus.
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread
Yea! Heavy and
a bottle of bread |
