Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues (Live from London 5/26/66) Lyrics

These are all protest sons now, come on
This is not, this is not Brittish music
It's American music, now come on please

When you're lost in the rain in Juarez and it's Eastertime too
And your gravity's down and negativity don't get you through
Don't put on any airs when you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there and they really make a mess outta you

Now if you see Saint Annie, please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move, my fingers they're all in a knot
I don't have the strength to get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor, he won't even tell me 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 careful not to go to her too soon
And she steals your voice and leaves you screaming 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 you better go back to from where you came
Because 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
And picking up Angel who just arrived here from the coast
Who 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 call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City, I do believe I've had enough