Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Tombstone Blues, artist - Tim O'Brien. Album song Red On Blonde, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Record label: Sugar Hill
Song language: English
Tombstone Blues |
The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course |
The city fathers they’re trying to endorse |
The reincarnation of Paul Revere’s horse |
But the town has no need to be nervous. |
The ghost of Belle Star she hands down her wits |
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits |
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits |
At the head of the chamber of commerce. |
Mama’s in the fact’ry |
She ain’t got no shoes |
Daddy’s in the alley |
He’s lookin' for food. |
And I’m in the kitchen |
With the tombstone blues. |
The hysterical bride in the penny arcade |
Screaming she moans, «I've just been made» |
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade |
Says, «My advice is to not let the boys in». |
Now the medicine man comes and shuffles inside |
He walks with a swagger and he says to be bride |
«Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride |
You will not die, it’s not poison». |
Mama’s in the fact’ry |
She ain’t got no shoes |
Daddy’s in the alley |
He’s lookin' for food. |
And I’m in the kitchen |
With the tombstone blues. |
The geometry of innocent flesh on the bone |
Causes Galileo’s math book to get thrown |
At Delilah who’s sitting worthlessly alone |
But the tears on her cheeks they’re from laughter. |
I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill |
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill |
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille |
He could die happily ever after. |
Mama’s in the fact’ry |
She ain’t got no shoes |
Daddy’s in the alley |
He’s lookin' for food. |
And I’m in the kitchen |
With the tombstone blues. |
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll |
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole |
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul |
To the old folks home and the college. |
I wish I could write you a melody so plain |
That could hold you dear lady from going insane |
That could ease you and cool you and cease all the pain |
Of your useless and pointless knowledge |
Mama’s in the fact’ry |
She ain’t got no shoes |
Daddy’s in the alley |
He’s lookin' for food |
And I’m in the kitchen |
With the tombstone blues. |