"Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues" lyrics
(originally by Bob Dylan)
When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime, too
And your gravity's down
And negativity don't pull you through
Just don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they'll really make a mess outta you
Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her, "Thanks a lot"
I cannot move
My fingers, they are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got
Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her "the goddess of gloom"
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And then careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon
Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
Better go back to where you came
'Cause the cops don't need you
And man, they expect the same
Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
Picking up Angel
Who just arrived here from the coast
She looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost
I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough
And it's Eastertime, too
And your gravity's down
And negativity don't pull you through
Just don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they'll really make a mess outta you
Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her, "Thanks a lot"
I cannot move
My fingers, they are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got
Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her "the goddess of gloom"
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And then careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon
Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
Better go back to where you came
'Cause the cops don't need you
And man, they expect the same
Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
Picking up Angel
Who just arrived here from the coast
She looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost
I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough
