Do you know any Bob Dylan
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1. At the age of nineteen, I was young, I was keen,
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and I had just one burning ambition :
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to be a folksinger, a
dope-smoking swinger,
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sing songs that were steeped
in tradition.
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So I bought a guitar and I
practiced real hard,
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I wasn't much good, but I was willin',
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till to my chagrin, my
girlfriend came in,
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and she said: "Can you sing any
Dylan?"
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I said "No! No! A thousand times no!
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I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'.
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I'd sing anything, even 'God Save The King',
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but I just won't sing any Bob Dylan."
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2. And with my guitar I traveled real far,
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trying to
get recognition.
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I sang 'The Wild Rover' from
Dundee to
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in pubs, clubs and in seaman's
missions.
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I travelled the road for seven
long years,
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my pace, it really was killin'.
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And everywhere I went from Guaya to Gwent,
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they would say: "Can you
sing any Dylan?"
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I said "No! No! A thousand times no!
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I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'.
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I'd sing anything, even 'God Save The King',
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but I just won't sing any Bob Dylan."
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3. Well, I struggled on, but the magic was gone,
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I only had a deep sense of
failure.
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I thought then I'd go to where
all failures go,
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so I boarded a ship for
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When I landed at
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'twas a view that was lovely
and thrillin',
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till spotting my case with a
smile on his face,
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custom said: "Can you
sing any Dylan, mate?"
+ CHORUS
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4. And ever since then, again and again,
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I've been asked the same
bloody question,
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and I usually reply in me own
quiet way,
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with a
totally indecent suggestion.
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But the last time came on at
the local motel,
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when I had a
young girl who was willin'.
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As she slipped off her dress
she said, "I'll say yes,
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if only you sing some Bob
Dylan." (Big boy. Big big
big boy)
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I said "No! No! A thousand times no!
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I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'.
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I'd sing anything, even 'God Save The King',
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but I just won't sing any Bob Dylan."
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5. But I tell you, my friends, that was the end,
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of all my traditional
aspirations,
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if bein'
a folkie was gonna cut off my nookie,
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there was one way to end my
frustration.
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The next night I sang at my
local folk club,
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where the audience as usual
was millin',
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till I took off my coat and I
ruptured my throat,
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and I sang just like Bob
Dylan:
(sing first verse of ‘The times they are a-changin'
in a very distorted and nasal way)
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6. Well the audience went wild, mans, womans
and childs,
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and they clapped till their
raw hands were bleedin',
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and said so to speak that my
style was unique,
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and just what this great folk
scene was needin'.
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So all you young folkies who bash out the cart,
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if you want to attain the top billin',
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just murder good prose and
sing through your nose,
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and then you'll sing just like
Bob Dylan.
(Eric Bogle)