Donkeytale had a snarky diary earlier complaining about Dylan's lyrics from this unfortunately titled Album. What does Dylan have against bald people?
Anyway, the album is http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B00026WU8M/qid=1118348140/sr=8-1/ref=pd_csp_1/002-9278
315-2388832?v=glance&s=music&n=507846
More contemporary lyrics are below the fold. I couldn't improve on the bit about the preacher or the neon madmen.
Oh, the adman draws girlies
Up and down the blog.
I'd ask him where the fire was
But I know that he's in shock.
And the ladies treat me kindly
And furnish me with rage,
for things that almost happened
when I was another age.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Well, Gonzales, he's in the alley
With his thumb screws and his lies,
Speaking to some Arab dude,
Who says it's not him this time.
And I would send a message
To find out if he's talked,
But the government's been stolen
And the phone lines are bugged.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Teresa tried to tell me
To stay away from the white male line.
She said that all the white men
Just drink up your soul like wine.
An' I said, oh, I didn't know that,
But then again, there's only one I've met
An' he just types a keyboard
An' hasn't drunk up anyone yet.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Grandpa died last week
And now he's buried with the Vets,
But everybody still talks about
How Jesus never forgets.
But me, I knew that he believed that,
I knew he'd never change,
When he vowed that God will punish
All that liberals arrange.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Now the President came down here
Stealing ev'rybody's retirement bread,
Handing out free tickets
But only to his friends.
An' me, I nearly got busted
An' wouldn't it be my luck
To get caught inside the sound machine
Remembered as an echo of his jive and chuck.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Now the preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest.
But he cursed me when I proved it to him,
Then I whispered, not even you can hide.
You see, you're just like me,
I hope you're satisfied.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Now `mando gave me two cures,
Then he said, jump right in.
The one was trust my critics,
The other was trust my friends.
An' like a fool I mixed them
An' it strangled up my mind,
An' now people just get uglier
An' I have no sense of time.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Susan says she must go
where she will not be maligned,
where her wisdom's all that matters
and her boobies no one finds.
An' I say, aw come on now,
You must know about my liberty.
An' she says, your liberty's not justice
An' justice' what I need.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.
Now the bricks lay on grand street
Where the neon madmen climb.
They all fall there so perfectly,
It all seems so well timed.
An' here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice.
Oh, mama, can this really be the end,
To be stuck inside of Bushland
With the Pie Ad blues again.