Got the Bob Dylan blues 
And the Bob Dylan Shoes 
And my clothes and my hair's in a mess 
But you know I just couldn't care less 

Goin' to write me a song 
Bout' what's right and what's wrong 
Bout' god and my god and all that 
Quiet while I make like a cat 
 [bad word]  
Cause I'm a poet 
Don't ya know it 
And the wind, you can blow it 
Cause I'm Mr. Dylan, the king 
And I'm free as a bird on the wing 

Roam from town to town 
Guess I get people down 
But I don't care too much about that 
Cause my gut and my wallet are fat 

Make a whole lotta dough 
But I deserve it though 
I've got soul and a good heart of gold 
So I'll sing about war in the cold 
 [bad word] (see above): 

Well I sing about dreams 
And I rhymes it with seems 
Cause it seems that my dream always means 
That I can prophesy all kinds of things 

Well the guy that digs me 
Should try hard to see 
That he buys all my discs and a hat 
And when I'm in town go see that 
 [bad word] (see above):