Bob Dylan Po' Boy Lyrics
            Man comes to the door - I say,
            "For whom are you looking?"
            He says, "Your wife", I say,
            "She's busy in the kitchen cookin'."
            Poor boy - where you been?
            I already tol' you - won't tell you again
        
            I say, "How much you want for that?"
            I go into the store
            The man says, "Three dollars", "All right",
            I say, "Will you take four?"
            Poor boy - never say die.
            Things will be all right by and by
        
            Been workin' on the mainline -
            workin' like the devil
            The game is the same -
            it's just up on a different level
            Poor boy - dressed in black
            Police at your back
        
            Poor boy in a red hot town
            Out beyond the twinklin' stars
            Ridin' first class trains -
            making the rounds
            Tryin' to keep from fallin' between the cars
        
            Othello told Desdemona, "I'm cold,
            cover me with a blanket.
            By the way,
            what happened to that poison wine?"
            She says, "I gave it to you, you drank it."
            Poor boy, layin' 'em straight - pickin' up the cherries fallin' off the plate
        
            Time and love has branded me
            with its claws
            Had to go to Florida,
            dodgin' them Georgia laws
            Poor boy, in the hotel called
            the Palace of Gloom
            Calls down to room service,
            says, "Send up a room"
        
            My mother was a daughter of a wealthy farmer
            My father was a traveling salesman,
            I never met him
            When my mother died, my uncle took me in -
            he ran a funeral parlor
            He did a lot of nice things for me
            and I won't forget him
        
            All I know is that I'm thrilled by your kiss
            I don't know any more than this
            Poor boy, pickin' up sticks
            Build ya a house out of mortar and bricks
        
            Knockin' on the door, I say,
            "Who is it and where are you from?"
            Man says, "Freddy!"
            I say, "Freddy who?"
            He says, "Freddy or not here I come."
            Poor boy 'neath the stars that shine
            Washin' them dishes,
            feedin' them swine
        
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