Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Mean Talking Blues, artist - Woody Guthrie. Album song Hard Travelin', The Asch Recordings, Vol. 3, in the genre
Date of issue: 05.11.2019
Record label: Limitless Int
Song language: English
Mean Talking Blues |
I’m the meanest man that ever had a brain, |
All I scatter is aches and pains. |
I’m carbolic acid, and a poison face, |
And I stand flat-footed in favor of crime and disgrace. |
If I ever done a good deed -- I’m sorry of it. |
I’m mean in the East, mean in the West, |
Mean to the people that I like the best. |
I go around a-causin' lot of accidents, |
And I push folks down, and I cause train wrecks. |
I’m a big disaster -- just goin' somewhere’s to happen. |
I’m an organized famine -- studyin' now I can be a little bit meaner. |
I’m still a whole lot too good to suit myself -- just mean… |
I ride around on the subway trains, |
Laughin' at the tight shoes dealin' you pain. |
And I laugh when the car shakes from side to side, |
I laugh my loudest when other people cry. |
Can’t help it -- I was born good, I guess, |
Just like you or anybody else --- |
But then I… just turned off mean. |
I hate ev’rybody don’t think like me, |
And I’d rather see you dead than I’d ever see you free. |
Rather see you starved to death |
Than see you at work -- |
And I’m readin' all the books I can |
To learn how to hurt -- |
Daily Misery -- spread diseases, |
Keep you without no vote, |
Keep you without no union. |
Well, I hurt when I see you gettin' 'long so well, |
I’d ten times rather see you in the fires of hell. |
I can’t stand to fixed… see you there all fixed up in that house so nice, |
I’d rather keep you in that rotten hole, with the bugs and the lice, |
And the roaches, and the termites, |
And the sand fleas, and the tater bugs, |
And the grub worms, and the stingarees, |
And the tarantulas, and the spiders, childs of the earth, |
The ticks and the blow-flies -- |
These is all of my little angels |
That go 'round helpin' me do the best parts of my meanness. |
And mosquiters… |
Well, I used to be a pretty fair organized feller, |
Till I turned a scab and then I turned off yeller, |
Fought ev’ry union with teeth and toenail, |
And I sprouted a six-inch stinger right in the middle of the tail, |
And I growed horns… |
And then I cut 'em off, I wanted to fool you. |
I hated union ever’where, |
'Cause God likes unions |
And I hate God! |
Well, if I can get the fat to hatin' the lean |
That’d tickle me more than anything I’ve seen, |
Then get the colors to fightin' one another, |
And friend against friend, and brother… and sister against brother, |
That’ll be just it. |
Everybody’s brains a-boilin' in turpentine, |
And their teeth fallin' out all up and down the streets, |
That’ll just suit me fine. |
'Cause I hate ever’thing that’s union, |
And I hate ever’thing that’s organized, |
And I hate ever’thing that’s planned, |
And I love to hate and I hate to love! |
I’m mean, I’m just mean… |