Lyrics Talking New Bob Dylan - Loudon Wainwright III

Talking New Bob Dylan

Hey, Bob Dylan, I wrote you a song
Today is your birthday if I’m not wrong
If I’m not mistaken you’re fifty today
How are you doin', Bob?
What do you say?
Well, it musta been about '62
I heard you on record, and you were brand-new
An' some had some doubts about the way you sang
But the truth came through and loudly rang
Yeah, you were hipper than Mitch Miller
And Johnny Mathis, put together
So I got some boots, a harmonica rack
A D-21, an' I was on the right track
But I didn’t start writing until '68
It was too damn daunting, you were too great
I won a whole lot of Bob Dylan imitation contests, though -- huh
Yeah, times were a-changin'
You brought it all home --
«Blonde On Blonde», «Like a Rolling Stone»
The real world is crazy, you were deranged
An' when you went electric, why, everything changed --
A shock to the system
Had a commission at yer motorcycle wreck --
Holed up in Woodstock, with a broken neck
The labels were signin' up guys with guitars, out to make millions,
lookin' for stars
Well, I figured it was time to make my move --
Songs from the West Chester County Delta country
Yeah, I got a deal, and so did John Prine, Steve Forbert and Springsteen,
all in a line
They were lookin' for you, signin' up others
We were «new Bob Dylans» -- your dumb-ass kid brothers
Well, we still get together every week at Bruce’s house --
Why, he’s got quite a spread, I tell ya -- it’s a twelve-step program
Well, but we were just us and of course you were you
«John Wesley Harding» sure sounded new
And then «Nashville Skyline» was even newer
'Blood On the Tracks', an' the ringin' got truer
Let’s see -- there was another one in there somewhere… oh, I got it,
I got it -- «Self Portrait» --
Well, it was an interesting effort
Yeah, had to stop listening, times were too tough
Me bein' the new me was hard enough
You keep right on changin' like you always do
An' what’s best is the old stuff still all sounds new.
Yeah, today is your birthday -- have a great one, Bob!
Bein' the new you is one hell of a job
My kid cranked up her boom-box to almost grown
When I heard you screamin'
From her room --
«Everybody must get stoned.»
Thanks a lot, Bob
Happy birthday, Bob