BBob Dylan • Poor Boy (аккорды и текст - chords & lyrics)



    Видео «Poor Boy (Bob Dylan)»

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    Fmaj7 F6 C Am/f# Fmaj7 G6 G C
    : . . . : . . . : . . . : . . .
    C Bm7-5 E7(-5)
    Man came to the door, I say, "For whom are you lookin'?"
    Am D9
    He says, "Your wife." I say, "She's busy in the kitchen cookin'."
    Fmaj7 F6 C Am/f#
    Po' boy, where you been?
    F(maj7) G6 G C
    I already told you, won't tell you again.
    I say, "How much you want for that?" I go into the store,
    Man says, "Three dollars." "All right," I say, "Will you take four?"
    Po' boy, never say die,
    Things will be all right by and by.
    Workin' like on the main line, working like a devil,
    The game is the same, it's just up on another level.
    Po' boy, dressed in black,
    Police at your back. B(5)
    Em B7 Em B7
    Po' boy in a red hot town,
    Em B7 Em
    out beyond the twinklin' stars,
    E7 Am E7 Am
    Ridin' first class trains, makin' the rounds,
    E7 Am D9 G
    Tryin' to keep from fallin' between the cars
    . : . . . : . .
    ---------|------------------- ----------|-------------------
    -5-6---5-|-8---8-----6------- --1-3---1-|-5---5-----3-------
    -5-7---5-|-9---9-----7------- or ----------|-------------------
    ---------|------------------- --2-3---2-|-5---5-----3-------
    ---------|------------------- ----------|-------------------
    ---------|------------------- ----------|-------------------
    Othello told Desdemona, "I'm cold, cover me with a blanket,
    By the way, what happened to that poisoned wine?"
    She said, "I gave it to you, you drank it."
    Po' boy, layin' him straight,
    Pickin' up the cherries fallin' off the plate.
    Time in love is brandin' me with its claws
    Had to go to Florida dodgin' them Georgia laws.
    Po' boy, in the hotel called The Palace of Gloom,
    Call down to room service, says "Send up a room."
    My mother was a daughter of a wealthy farmer [/royalty farmer/former],
    My father was a travelin' salesman, I never met him.
    When my mother died, my uncle took me and 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.
    Po' boy, pickin' up sticks,
    Build you a house out of mortar and bricks.
    Knockin' on the door, I said, "Who's it, where you from?"
    Man said, "Freddie." I said, "Freddie who?"
    He said, "Freddie or not, here I come!"
    Po' boy, ‘neath the stars that shine,
    Washin' them dishes, feedin' them swine.


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