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Bob Dylan: Bob Dylan

 A l b u m   D e t a i l s

Artist: Bob Dylan
Title: Bob Dylan
Released: 1962.03.19
Label: Columbia Records
Time: 36:11
Producer(s): John Hammond, Sr.
Appears with:
Category: Pop/Rock
Rating: *****..... (5/10)
Media type: CD
Purchase date:  2001.09.10
Price in €: 9,99
Web address: www.bobdylan.com

 S o n g s ,   T r a c k s


[1] You're No Good (J.Füller) - 1:36
[2] Talkin' New York (B.Dylan) - 3:17
[3] In My Time of Dyin' (B.Dylan) - 2:37
[4] Man of Constant Sorrow (Arr. B.Dylan) - 3:05
[5] Fixin' to Die (B.White) - 2:18
[6] Pretty Peggy-O (Arr. B.Dylan) - 3:21
[7] Highway 51 (C.Jones) - 2:49
[8] Gospel Plow (Arr. B.Dylan) - 1:43
[9] Baby, Let Me Follow You Down (R.Von Schmidt) - 2:33
[10] House of the Rising Sun (Traditional) - 5:16
[11] Freight Train Blues (Traditional) - 2:16
[12] Song to Woody (B.Dylan) - 2:40
[13] See That My Grave Is Kept Clean (L.Jefferson) - 2:40

 A r t i s t s ,   P e r s o n n e l


BOB DYLAN - Guitar, Harmonica, Keyboards, Vocals

MARK WILDER - Remastering
ROBERT SHELTON - Liner Notes
STACEY WILLIAMS - Liner Notes

 C o m m e n t s ,   N o t e s


1961 CD Columbia CK-8579
1990 CS Columbia 8579



LINER NOTES:

Columbia records is proud to introduce a major new figure in American folk music

Bob Dylan.




Excitement has been running high since the young man with a guitar ambled into a Columbia recording studio for two sessions in November, 1961. For at only 20, Dylan is the most unusual new talent in American folk music.

His talent takes many forms. He is one of the most compelling white blues singers ever recorded. He is a songwriter of exceptional facility and cleverness. He is an uncommonly skillful guitar player and harmonica player.

In less than one year in New York, Bob Dylan has thrown the folk crowd into an uproar. Ardent fans have been shouting his praises. Devotees have found in him the image of a singing rebel, a musical Chaplin tramp, a young Woody Guthrie, or a composite of some of the best country blues singers.

A good deal of Dylan's steel-string guitar work runs strongly in the blues vein, although he will vary it with country configurations, Merle Travis picking and other methods. Sometimes he frets his instrument with the back of a kitchen knife or even a metal lipstick holder, giving it the clangy virility of the primitive country blues men. His pungent, driving, witty harmonica is sometimes used in the manner of Walter Jacobs, who plays with the Muddy Waters' band in Chicago, or the evocative manner of Sonny Terry.

Another strong influence on Bob Dylan was not a musician primarily, although he has written music, but a comedian -- Charlie Chaplin. After seeing many Chaplin films, Dylan found himself beginning to pick up some of the gestures of the classic tramp of silent films. Now as he appears on the stage in a humorous number, you can see Dylan nervously tapping his hat, adjusting it, using it as a prop, almost leaning on it, as the Chaplin tramp did before him.

Yet despite his comic flair, Bob Dylan has, for one so young, a curious preoccupation with songs about death. Although he is rarely inarticulate, Dylan can't explain the attraction of these songs, beyond the power and emotional wallop they give him, and which he passes on to his listeners. It may be that three years ago, when a serious illness struck him, that he got an indelible insight into what those death-haunted blues men were singing about.

-- His Life and Times --

Bob Dylan was born in Duluth, Minnesota, on May 24, 1941. After living briefly in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and Gallup, New Mexico, he graduated from high school in Hibbing, Minnesota "way up by the Canadian border."

For six troubled months, Bob attended the University of Minnesota on a scholarship. But like so many of the restless, questioning students of his generation, the formal confines of college couldn't hold him.

"I didn't agree with school," he says. "I flunked out. I read a lot, but not the required readings."

He remembers staying up all night plowing through the philosophy of Kant instead of reading "Living With the Birds" for a science course.

"Mostly ," he summarizes his college days, "I couldn't stay in one place long enough."

Bob Dylan first came East in February, 1961. His destination: the Greystone Hospital in New Jersey. His purpose: to visit the long-ailing Woody Guthrie, singer, ballad-maker and poet. It was the beginning of a deep friendship between the two. Although they were separated by thirty years and two generations, they were united by a love of music, a kindred sense of humor and a common view toward the world.

The young man from the provinces began to make friends very quickly in New York, all the while continuing, as he has since he was ten, to assimilate musical ideas from everyone he met, every record he heard. He fell in with Dave Van Ronk and Jack Elliott, two of the most dedicated musicians then playing in Greenwich Village, and swapped songs, ideas and stylistic conceptions with them. He played at the Gaslight Coffeehouse, and in April, 1961, appeared opposite John Lee Hooker, the blues singer, at Gerde's Folk City. Word of Dylan's talent began to grow, but in the surcharged atmosphere of rivalry that has crept into the folk-music world, so did envy. His "Talkin' New York" is a musical comment on his reception in New York.

Recalling his first professional music job, Bob says:
"I never thought I would shoot lightning through the sky in the entertainment world."

In 1959, in Central City, Colorado, he had that first job, in rough and tumble striptease joint.

"I was onstage for just a few minutes with my folk songs. Then the strippers would come on. The crowd would yell for more stripping, but they went off, and I'd come bouncing back with my folky songs. As the night got longer, the air got heavier, the audience got drunker and nastier, and I got sicker and finally I got fired."

Bob Dylan started to sing and play guitar when he was ten. Five to six years later he wrote his first song, dedicated to Brigitte Bardot. All the time, he listened to everything with both ears -- Hank Williams, the late Jimmie Rodgers, Jelly Roll Morton, Woody Guthrie, Carl Perkins, early Elvis Presley. A meeting with Mance Lipscomb, Texas songster, left its mark on his work, as did the blues recordings of Rabbit Brown and Big Joe Williams. He speaks worshipfully of the sense of pace and timing the great blues men had, and it has become a trademark of his work already. His speed at assimilating new styles and digesting them is not the least startling thing about Bob Dylan.

The future:

"I just want to keep on singing and writing songs like I am doing now. I just want to get along. I don't think about making a million dollars. If I had a lot of money what would I do?" he asked himself, closed his eyes, shifted the hat on his head and smiled:

"I would buy a couple of motorcycles, a few air-conditioners and four or five couches."

-- His Songs --

The number that opens this album, "You're No Good," was learned from Jesse Fuller, the West coast singer. Its vaudeville flair and exaggeration are used to heighten the mock anger of the lyrics.

"Talkin' New York" is a diary note set to music. In May, 1961, Dylan started to hitchhike West, not overwhelmingly pleased at what he had seen and experienced in New York. At a truck stop along the highway he started to scribble down a few impressions of the city he left behind. They were comic, but tinged with a certain sarcastic bite, very much in the Guthrie vein.

Dylan had never sung "In My Time of Dyin'" prior to this recording session. He does not recall where he first heard it. The guitar is fretted with the lipstick holder he borrowed from his girl, Susie Rotolo, who sat devotedly and wide-eyed through the recording session.

"Man of Constant Sorrow" is a traditional Southern mountain folk song of considerable popularity and age, but probably never sung quite in this fashion before.

"Fixin' to Die," which echoes the spirit and some of the words of "In My Time of Dyin'," was learned from an old recording by Bukka White.

A traditional Scottish song is the bare bones on which Dylan hangs "Pretty Peggy-O." But the song has lost its burr and acquired instead a Texas accent, and a few new verses and fillips by the singer.

A diesel-tempoed "Highway 51" is of a type sung by the Everly Brothers, partially rewritten by Dylan. His guitar is tuned to an open tuning and features a particularly compelling vamping figure. Similarly up tempo is his version of "Gospel Plow," which turns the old spiritual into a virtually new song.

Eric Von Schmidt, a young artist and blues singer from Boston, was the source of "Baby, Let Me Follow You Down." "House of the Risin' Sun" is a traditional lament of a New Orleans woman driven into prostitution by poverty. Dylan learned the song from the singing of Dave Van Ronk: "I'd always known 'Risin' Sun' but never really knew I knew it until I heard Dave sing it." The singer's version of "Freight Train Blues" was adapted from an old disk by Roy Acuff.

"Song to Woody," is another original by Bob Dylan, dedicated to one of his greatest inspirations, and written much in the musical language of his idol.

Ending this album is the surging power and tragedy of Blind Lemon Jefferson's blues -- "See That My Grave Is Kept Clean." The poignance and passion of this simple song reveals both the country blues tradition -- and its newest voice, Bob Dylan -- at their very finest.

Stacey Williams




"Bob Dylan: A Distinctive Folk-Song Stylist"

A bright new face in folk music is appearing at Gerde's Folk City. Although only 20 years old, Bob Dylan is one of the most distinctive stylists to play in a Manhattan cabaret in months.

Resembling a cross between a choir boy and a beatnik, Mr. Dylan has a cherubic look and a mop of tousled hair he partly covers with a Huck Finn black corduroy cap. His clothes may need a bit of tailoring, but when he works his guitar, harmonica or piano and composes new songs faster than he can remember them, there is no doubt that he is bursting at the seams with talent.

Mr. Dylan's voice is anything but pretty. He is consciously trying to recapture the rude beauty of a Southern field hand musing in melody on his porch. All the "husk and bark" are left on his notes and searing intensities pervades his songs.

Mr. Dylan is both comedian and tragedian. Like a vaudeville actor on the rural circuit, he offers a variety of droll musical monologues: "Talking Bear Mountain" lampoons the overcrowding of an excursion boat, "Talkin' New York" satirizes his troubles in gaining recognition and "Talking Havah Nageilah" burlesques the folk-music craze and the singer himself.

In his serious vein, Mr. Dylan seems to be performing in a slow-motion film. Elasticized phrases are drawn out until you think they may snap. He rocks his head and body, closes his eyes in reverie and seems to be groping for a word or a mood, then resolves the tension benevolently by finding the word and the mood.

Mr. Dylan's highly personalized approach toward folk song is still evolving. He has been sopping up influences like a sponge. At times, the drama he aims at is off-target melodrama and his stylization threatens to topple over as a mannered excess.

But if not for every taste, his music-making has the mask of originality and inspiration, all the more noteworthy for his youth. Mr., Dylan is the more noteworthy for his youth. Mr. Dylan is vague about his antecedents and birthplace, but it matters less where he has been than where he is going, and that would seem to be straight up.

From the "New York Times," Friday, September 29, 1961
by Robert Shelton



Bob Dylan's first album is a lot like the debut albums by the Beatles and the Rolling Stones — a sterling effort, outclassing most, if not all, of what came before it in the genre, but similarly eclipsed by the artist's own subsequent efforts. The difference was that not very many people heard Bob Dylan on its original release (originals on the early '60s Columbia label are choice collectibles) because it was recorded with a much smaller audience and musical arena in mind. At the time of Bob Dylan's release, the folk revival was rolling, and interpretation was considered more important than original composition by most of that audience. A significant portion of the record is possessed by the style and spirit of Woody Guthrie, whose influence as a singer and guitarist hovers over "Man of Constant Sorrow" and "Pretty Peggy-O," as well as the two originals here, the savagely witty "Talkin' New York" and the poignant "Song to Woody"; and it's also hard to believe that he wasn't aware of Jimmie Rodgers and Roy Acuff when he cut "Freight Train Blues." But on other songs, one can also hear the influences of Bukka White, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Blind Willie Johnson, and Furry Lewis, in the playing and singing, and this is where Dylan departed significantly from most of his contemporaries. Other white folksingers of the era, including his older contemporaries Eric Von Schmidt and Dave Van Ronk, had incorporated blues in their work, but Dylan's presentation was more in your face, resembling in some respects (albeit in a more self-conscious way) the work of John Hammond Jr., the son of the man who signed Dylan to Columbia Records and produced this album, who was just starting out in his own career at the time this record was made. There's a punk-like aggressiveness to the singing and playing here. His raspy-voiced delivery and guitar style were modeled largely on Guthrie's classic 1940s and early 1950s recordings, but the assertiveness of the bluesmen he admires also comes out, making this one of the most powerful records to come out of the folk revival of which it was a part. Within a year of its release, Dylan, initially in tandem with young folk/protest singers like Peter, Paul & Mary and Phil Ochs, would alter the boundaries of that revival beyond recognition, but this album marked the pinnacle of that earlier phase, before it was overshadowed by this artist's more ambitious subsequent work. In that regard, the two original songs here serve as the bridge between Dylan's stylistic roots, as delineated on this album, and the more powerful and daringly original work that followed. One myth surrounding this album should also be dispelled here — his version of "House of the Rising Sun" here is worthwhile, but the version that was the inspiration for the Animals' recording was the one by Josh White.

Bruce Eder
All-Music Guide, © 1992 - 2001 AEC One Stop Group, Inc.



This album now seems as remarkable as his mid-'60s breakthoughs. Like Presley's Sun Sessions, it is both the remnant of a lost rural America and the seed of rock culture. The music is primarily Dylan, with acoustic guitar, barking traditional folk, and blues. He was 20, a Northern hick come to New York to be the next Woody Guthrie. It's amazing that at 20 he sings "In My Time of Dying" and "See That My Grave is Kept Clean," not as traditional songs, but making their doom and resignation sound personal.

Steve Tignor, Amazon.com



...A CD masterpiece, full-bodied, in stereo, sounding fresh, clean and new...

Goldmine - 5 Stars


Dieses Album erscheint uns heute ebenso bemerkenswert wie die Alben, mit denen er Mitte der 60er-Jahre den Durchbruch erzielte. Wie Elvis Presleys Sun Sessions ist es gleichermaßen ein Überbleibsel aus dem verloren gegangenen ländlichen Amerika und die Saat, aus der die Rock-Kultur entstehen sollte. Die Musik ist in erster Linie typisch Dylan, mit akustischer Gitarre, mit knurrigem traditionellen Folk und Blues. Er war zwanzig Jahre alt, ein Hinterwäldler aus dem Norden, der nach New York kam, um möglichst nahe bei Woody Guthrie zu sein. Es ist verblüffend, dass er mit zwanzig Jahren "In My Time of Dying" und "See That My Grave is Kept Clean" nicht als Traditionals interpretiert, sondern die Düsternis und Resignation, die aus den Songs spricht, persönlich klingen lässt.

Steve Tignor, Amazon.de
 

 L y r i c s


SHE'S NO GOOD

Well, I dont know why I love you like I do
Nobody in the world can get along with you
You got the ways of a devil sleeping in a lion's den
I come home last night you wouldn't even let me in.

Oh sometimes you're as sweet as nobody want to be
Oh when you get the crazy notion of jumping all over me
Well, you give me the blues, I guess you're satisfied
When you give me the blues I wanna lay down and die.

After when you had no shoes on your feet, pretty mama
After when you had no food to eat
Now you're that kind of woman that just don't understand
You're taking all my money and give it to another man.

Well, you're that kind of woman makes a man lose his brains
You're that kind of woman drives me insane
Well, you give me the blues, I guess you're satisfied
You give me the blues, I wanna lay down and die.


TALKIN' NEW YORK

Rambling out of the wild west
Leaving the towns I love best
Thought I'd seen some ups and down
'Till I come into New York town
People going down to the ground
Building going up to the sky.

Wintertime in New York town
The wind blowing snow around
Walk around with nowhere to go
Somebody could freeze right to the bone
I froze right to the bone
New York Times said it was the coldest winter in seventeen years
I didn't feel so cold then.

I swung on to my old guitar
Grabbed hold of a subway car
And after a rocking, reeling, rolling ride
I landed up on the downtown side:
Greenwich Village.

I walked down there and ended up
In one of them coffee-houses on the block
Got on the stage to sing and play
Man there said, Come back some other day
You sound like a hillbilly
We want folksingers here.

Well, I got a harmonica job begun to play
Blowing my lungs out for a dollar a day
I blowed inside out and upside down
The man there said he loved my sound
He was raving about he loved my sound
Dollar a day's worth.

After weeks and weeks of hanging around
I finally got a job in New York town
In a bigger place, bigger money too
Even joined the Union and paid my dues.

Now, a very great man once said
That some people rob you with a fountain pen
It don't take too long to find out
Just what he was talking about
A lot of people don't have much food on their table
But they got a lot of forks and knives
And they gotta cut something.

So one morning when the sun was warm
I rambled out of New York town
Pulled my cap down over my eyes
And heated out for the western skies
So long New York
Howdy, East Orange.


IN MY TIME OF DYIN'

Well, in my time of dying don't want nobody to mourn
All I want for you to do is take my body home
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, Jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.

Well, meet me Jesus, meet me, meet me in the middle of the air
If these wings should fail to me,
Lord, won't you meet me with another girl ?
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, Jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.

Lord, in my time of dying don't want nobody to cry
All I want you to do is take me when I die
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, Jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.


MAN OF CONSTANT SORROW

I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my days
I'll say goodbye to Colorado
Where I was born and partly raised.

Your mother says I'm a stranger
My face you'll never see no more
But there's one promise, darling:
I'll see you on God's golden shore.

Through this open world I'm about to trouble
Through ice and snows, sleet and rain
I'm about to ride that morning railroad
Perhaps I'll die on that train.

I'm going back to Colorado
The place that I started from
If I had known how bad you'd treat me honey
I never would have come.


FIXIN' TO DIE BLUES

Feeling funny in my mind, Lord,
I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
Feeling funny in my mind, Lord
I believe I'm fixing to die
Well, I don't mind dying
But I hate to leave my children crying
Well, I look over yonder to that burying ground
Look over yonder to that burying ground
Sure seems lonesome, Lord, when the sun goes down

Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord,
I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
Feeling funny in my eyes, Lord
I believe I'm fixing to die
Well, I don't mind dying but
I hate to leave my children crying
There's a black smoke rising, Lord
It's rising up above my head, up above my head
It's rising up above my head, up above my head
And tell Jesus make up my dying bed.

I'm walking kind of funny, Lord
I believe I'm fixing to die, fixing to die
Yes I'm walking kind of funny, Lord
I believe I'm fixing to die
Fixing to die, fixing to die
Well, I don't mind dying
But I hate to leave my children crying.


PRETTY PEGGY-O

I've been around this whole country
But I never yet found Fenneario.

Well, as we marched down, as we marched down
Well, as we marched down to Fennerio'
Well, our captain fell in love with a lady like a dove
Her name that she had was Pretty Peggy-O

Well, what will your mother say, what will your mother say
What will your mother say, Pretty Peggy-O
What will your mother say to know you're going away
You're never, never, never coming back-io ?

Come a-running down your stairs
Come a-running down your stairs
Come a-running down your stairs, Pretty Peggy-O
Come a-running down your stairs
Combing back your yellow hair
You're the prettiest darned girl I ever seen-io.

The lieutenant he has gone
The lieutenant he has gone
The lieutenant he has gone, Pretty Peggy-O
The lieutenant he has gone, long gone
He's a-riding down in Texas with the rodeo.

Well, our captain he is dead, our captain he is dead
Our captain he is dead, Pretty Peggy-O
Well, our captain he is dead, died for a maid
He's buried somewhere in Louisiana-O.


HIGHWAY 51 BLUES

Highway 51 runs right by my baby's door
Highway 51 runs right by my baby's door
If I don't get the girl I'm loving
Won't go down to Highway 51 no more.

Well, I know that highway like I know my hand
Yes, I know that highway like I know the back of my hand
Running from up Wisconsin way down to no man's land.

Well, if I should die before my time should come
And if I should die before my time should come
Won't you bury my body out on the Highway 51.

Highway 51 runs right by my baby's door
I said, Highway 51 runs right by my baby's door
If I don't get the girl I'm loving
Won't go down to Highway 51 no more.


GOSPEL PLOW

Mary wore three links of chain
Every link was Jesus name
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, keep your hand on that plow, hold on.

Mary, Mark, Luke and John
All these prophets so good and gone
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, keep your hand on that plow, hold on.v
Well, I never been to heaven
But I've been told streets up there
Are lined with gold
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh Lord, Oh Lord, keep your hand on that plow, hold on.


BABY, LET ME FOLLOW YOU DOWN

- I first heard this from Ric von Schmidt. He lives in Cambridge.
Ric is a blues guitarplayer. I met him one day on
The green pastures of the Harvard University. -

Baby let me follow you down, baby let me follow you down
Well I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.

Can I come home with you, baby can I come home with you ?
Yes I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me come home with you.

Baby let me follow you down, baby let me follow you down
Well I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.

Yes I'll do anything in this godalmighty world
If you just let me follow you down.


HOUSE OF THE RISIN' SUN

There is a house down in New Orleans they call the rising sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl and me, oh God, I'm one.

My mother was a tailor, she sowed these new blue jeans
My sweetheart was a gambler, Lord, down in New Orleans.

Now the only thing a gambler needs is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time when he's satisfied is when he's on a drunk.

He fills his glasses up to the brim and he'll pass the cards around
And the only pleasure he gets out of life is rambling from town to town
.
Oh tell my baby sister not to do what I have done
But shun that house in New Orleans they call the rising sun.

Well with one foot on the platform and the other foot on the train
I'm going back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain.

I'm going back to New Orleans, my race is almost run
I'm going back to end my life down in the rising sun.

There is a house in New Orleans they call the rising sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor girl and me, oh God, I'm one.


FREIGHT TRAIN BLUES

I was born in Dixie in a boomer shed
Just a little shanty by the railroad track
Freight train was it taught me how to cry
The holler of the driver was my lullaby
I got the freight train blues
Oh Lord mama, I got them in the bottom of my rambling shoes
And when the whistle blows I gotta go baby, don't you know
Well, it looks like I'm never gonna lose the freight train blues.

Well, my daddy was a fireman and my mama-ha
She was the only daugther of an enginer
My sweetheart was a brakeman and it ain't no joke
Seems a waste to get a good man broke
I got the freight train blues
Oh Lord mama, I got them in the bottom of my rambling shoes
And when the whistle blows I gotta go mama, don't you know
Well, it looks like I'm never gonna lose the freight train blues.

Well, the only thing that makes me laugh again
Is a southbound whistle on a southbound train
Every place I wanna go I never can go
Because you know I got the freight train blues
Oh Lord mama, I got them in the bottom of my rambling shoes.


SONG TO WOODY

I'm out here a thousand miles from my home
Walking a road other men have gone down
I'm seeing a new world of people and things
Hear paupers and peasants and princes and kings.

Hey hey Woody Guthrie I wrote you a song
About a funny old world that's coming along
Seems sick and it's hungry, it's tired and it's torn
It looks like it's dying and it's hardly been born.

Hey Woody Guthrie but I know that you know
All the things that I'm saying and a many times more
I'm singing you the song but I can't you sing enough
'Cause there's not many men that've done the things that you've done.

Here's to Cisco and Sonny and Leadbelly too
And to all the good people that travelled with you
Here's to the hearts and the hands of the men
That come with the dust and are gone with the wind.

I'm leaving tomorrow but I could leave today
Somewhere down the road someday
The very last thing that I'd want to do
Is to say I've been hitting some hard travelling too.


SEE THAT MY GRAVE KEPT CLEAN

Well there's one kind of flavor I'll ask for you
Well there's one kind of flavor I'll ask for you
There's just one kind of flavor I'll ask for you
You can see that my grave is kept clean.

And there's two white horses following me
And there's two white horses following me
I got two white horses following me
Waiting on my burying ground.

Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Did you ever hear that coffin sound
Means another poor boy is under the ground.

Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Did you ever hear them church bells toll
Means another poor boy is dead and gone.

And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And my heart stopped beating and my hands turned cold
And I believe what the father told.

And there's one last flavor I'll ask for you
And there's one last flavor I'll ask for you
And just one last flavor I'll ask for you
You can see that my grave is kept clean.

 M P 3   S a m p l e s


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