| She’s off to anywhere
|
| Every town grows stale soon enough
|
| So it’s fields to east and the hills to the west
|
| Under crescent moons
|
| And grassy bends
|
| She lays her head to rest
|
| She’s been in a hundred movies
|
| And in six billion dreams
|
| Taking out wood and wide
|
| Singing romance round the fire
|
| Giving tastes of truth to those of us employed as liars
|
| And we sing ain’t that the life
|
| She’s got it made
|
| Her head in the sand her guitar in the shade
|
| Rambling beauty she sang to me
|
| Was she in my mind
|
| Or on the tv
|
| Yes she’s on my mind
|
| Come from the tv
|
| Noble hobo corporate cutthroat got the wisdom of the tramp
|
| Brother can’t spare no crumbs
|
| Don’t you trip over the bums
|
| As you step out of a cab
|
| On the way to see a gypsy band
|
| Railroad boxcar blasts and burns on down the line
|
| And her feet are a swingin'
|
| And the song she’s a singin'
|
| Tell of greener fields and freer times
|
| Rambling beauty
|
| Let me be your mate for awhile
|
| Be a shoulder for your head
|
| Carry a bag and roll-up bed
|
| Another day in this place
|
| And I swear I’ll end up dead
|
| And how I’m sorry
|
| That my ancestors threw you in jail
|
| But now I can see your ramblings were poetry
|
| Will you sell me the rights if I put up the bail?
|
| And we’ll sing ain’t that the life
|
| We’ve got it made
|
| Our heads in the sand our guitars in the shade
|
| Rambling beauty sing sweet to me
|
| Yeah you’re on my mind
|
| Just like on tv
|
| Yeah you’re on my mind
|
| Come from the tv |