I Shall Be Free--no. 10 Lyrics - Bob Dylan

Now I'm just average, common too 

I'm just like him, the same as you 

I'm everybody's brother and son 

I ain't different than anyone 

Ain't no use to talk to me 

It's just the same as talking to you. 

I was shadow-boxing earlier in the day 

I figured I was ready for Cassius Clay 

I said "Fee, fie, fo, fum, Cassius Clay here I come 

26, 27, 28, 29, I'm gonna make your face look just like mine 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Cassius Clay you better run 

99, 100 101, 102, your ma won't even recognize you 

14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, gonna knock him clean right out of his spleen. 

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Well, I don't know, but I've been told 

The streets of heaven are lined with gold 

I ask you how things could get much worse 

If the Russians happen to get up there first 

Wowee! Pretty scary! 

Now I'm liberal, but to a degree 

I want ev'rybody to be free 

But if you think that I'll let Barry Goldwater 

Move in next door and marry my daughter 

You must think I'm crazy! 

I wouldn't let him do it for all the farms in Cuba. 

Well, I set my monkey on the log 

And ordered him to do the Dog 

He wagged his tail and shook his head 

And he went and did the Cat instead 

He's a weird monkey, very funky. 

Photos 

I sat with my high-heeled sneakers on 

Waiting to play tennis in the noonday sun 

I had my white shorts rolled up past my waist 

And my wig-hat falling in my face 

But they wouldn't let me on the tennis court. 

I gotta woman, she's so mean 

She sticks my boots in the washing machine 

Sticks me with buckshot when I'm nude 

Puts bubblegum in my food 

She's funny, wants my money, calls me honey. 

Now I gotta friend who spends his life 

Stabbing my picture with a bowie-knife 

Dreams of stranglin' me with a scarf 

When my name comes up he pretends to barf 

I've got a million friends! 

Now they asked me to read a poem 

At the sorority sister's home 

I got knocked down and my head was swimmin' 

I wound up with the Dean of Women 

Yippee! I'm a poet, I know it 

Hope I don't blow it. 

I'm gonna grow my hair down to my feet so strange 

So I look like a walking mountain range 

And I'm gonna ride into Omaha on a horse 

Out to the country club and the golf course 

Carrin' the New York Times, shoot a few holes, blow their minds. 

Well you're probably wondering by now 

Just what this song is all about 

What's probably got you baffled more 

Is what this thing here is for 

It's nothin' 

It's something I learned over in England