Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Woodrow, artist - Tom Russell. Album song Hotwalker, in the genre Музыка мираDate of issue: 28.02.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Shout!
Song language: English
Woodrow |
| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now |
| Oh, the trains leave every morning, some go east and some go west |
| And the clacking of the iron is the sound you love the best |
| It’s the great escape from railroad bulls and the Coney Island girls |
| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown eyed boy with curls |
| Sing the truth, scream it loud |
| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now |
| All those boxcars full of Chinese junk, the caboose has been junk piled |
| And we’re all buying groceries now from men with crooked smiles |
| You were a drunken, wild misogyneer and your politics were crude |
| As you sat home writing nursery rhymes and drawing women nude |
| And all those politicians breaths stink bad, be they left or be they right |
| And the ones who play with rhetoric are not the ones to fight |
| Don’t go coming 'round here, Woodrow, they’ll stretch you from a rope |
| And your corpse won’t ever find a bar where a man can drink and smoke |
| Repeat Sing the truth, scream it loud |
| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now |
| Instrumental () |
| Did you hear the screen door slam, Ma, Woodrow’s gone again |
| He’s writin' obscene letters now, the Feds might bring him in |
| But every song he ever wrote is hangin' on the breeze |
| With the laundry in the Guthrie yard full of Huntington’s disease |
| So, Woodrow, rest in peace, old pal, there ain’t nothin' for you here |
| We’re in the scrub oak country now, the land of dread an' fear |
| And whitey’s in the wood pile and the writing’s on the wall |
| But your ring of truth still echoes down the Greystone clinic hall |
| Repeat Sing the truth, scream it loud |
| Aw, Mrs. Guthrie, look what they done to your brown-eyed baby now |
| So here’s to all outsiders, all the ones who could not fit |
| The troubadour, the prisoners, the drunken Indian |
| Ah, the circus freaks, the wounded lovers will make it through somehow |
| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, we are ridin' blind with your brown eyed baby now |
| Sing the truth scream it loud |
| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown-eyed baby now |
| Sing the truth, scream it loud |
| Ah, Mrs. Guthrie, look what we done to your brown-eyed baby now |