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Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues

Flytjandi: Bob Dylan
[D]    [C]    [G]    [D]    [C]    [G]    
When you're [G]lost in the rain in Juarez,
and it's [C]Easter time [G]too  

And your gravity fails,
and [C]negativity don't pull you [G]through

Don't put on any airs,
when you're [C]down on Rue Morgue Ave[G]nue  
They got [D]some hungry women there,
and they [C]really make a mess outa [G]you.


Now if you see Saint Annie,
[C]please tell her thanks a [G]lot  

I cannot move,
my [C]fingers are all in a [G]knot

I don't have the strength,
to [C]get up and take another [G]shot
And my [D]best friend, my doctor,
won't [C]even say what it is I've [G]got.


Sweet Melinda,
the [C]peasants call her the goddess of [G]gloom

She speaks good English,
and she in[C]vites you up into her [G]room

And you're so kind,
and [C]careful not to go to her too [G]soon
And she [D]takes your voice,
and [C]leaves you howling at the [G]moon.


Up on Housing Project Hill,
it's [C]either fortune or [G]fame

You must pick up one or the other,
though [C]neither of them are to be what they [G]claim

If you're lookin' to get silly,
you [C]better go back to from where you [G]came
Because the [D]cops don't need you,
and [C]man they expect the [G]same.


Now all the authorities,
[C]they just stand around and [G]boast

How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms,
into [C]leaving his [G]post

And picking up Angel who,
[C]just arrived here from the [G]coast
Who [D]looked so fine at first,
but [C]left looking just like a [G]ghost.

[G]    [C]    [G]    [C]    [G]    [C]    [G]    [D]    [C]    [G]    

I started out on burgundy,
but [C]soon hit the harder [G]stuff

Everybody said they'd stand behind me,
when the [C]game got [G]rough

But the joke was on me,
there was [C]nobody even there to [G]bluff
I'm going [D]back to New York City,
I [C]do believe I've had e[G]nough.

[D]    [C]    [G]    [D]    [C]    [G]    
[D]    [C]    [G]    [D]    [C]    [G]    


When you're lost in the rain in Juarez,
and it's Easter time too

And your gravity fails,
and negativity don't pull 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 outa you.

Now if you see Saint Annie,
please tell her thanks a lot

I cannot move,
my fingers are all in a knot

I don't have the strength,
to get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor,
won't even say 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 takes your voice,
and leaves you howling at the moon.

Up on Housing Project Hill,
it's either fortune or fame

You must pick up one or the other,
though 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 bluff
I'm going back to New York City,
I do believe I've had enough.


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