Tombstone Blues Lyrics - Sheryl Crow And Friends: Live In Central Park - Sheryl Crow

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course 

The city fathers they're trying to endorse 

The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse 

But the town has no need to be nervous 

The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits 

To Jezebel the nun she violently knits 

A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits 

At the head of the chamber of commerce 

Mama's in the fact'ry 

She ain't got no shoes 

Daddy's in the alley 

He's lookin' for the fuse 

I'm in the streets 

With the tombstone blues 

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The hysterical bride in the penny arcade 

Screaming she moans, "I've just been made" 

Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade 

Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in" 

Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside 

He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride 

"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride 

You will not die, it's not poison" 

Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief 

Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief 

Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief 

Is there a hole for me to get sick in?" 

The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly 

Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry" 

And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky 

Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken" 

The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save 

Put jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves 

Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves 

Then sends them out to the jungle 

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps 

With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps 

With a fantastic collection of stamps 

To win friends and influence his uncle 

The geometry of innocence flesh on the bone 

Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown 

At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone 

But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter 

Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill 

I would set him in chains at the top of the hill 

Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille 

He could die happily ever after 

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll 

Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole 

And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul 

To the old folks home and the college 

Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain 

That could hold you dear lady from going insane 

That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain 

Of your useless and pointless knowledge