When you got nothin' / You got nothin' to lose.
In ceremonies of the horsemen, even the pawn must hold a grudge.
And it's a hard, It's a hard, It's a hard, It's a hard, It's a hard rain gonna fall.
I don't write the songs; I just write 'em down.
I've never gone for having a great voice, for cultivating one. I'm still not doing it now.
Art is a never-ending dance of illusions.
Rumble is the best instrumental ever.
Let me drink from the waters where the mountain streams flood Let the smell of wildflowers flow free through my blood Let me sleep in your meadows with the green grassy leaves Let me walk down the highway with my brother in peace Let me die in my footsteps Before I go down under the ground.
You had no faith to lose and you know it.
Who Killed Davey Moore? Why and what's the reason for?
Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou temple-type cottages and lyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Revival standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades- 30-foot columns, gloriously beautiful- double pitched roofs, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move.
If you choose to live outside the law, you must obey the law more stringently than anyone.
Maybe in the 90s or possibly in the next century people will look upon the 80s as the age of masturbation, when it was taken to the limit; that might be all that's going on right now in a big way.
I ain't looking to compete with you, beat, or cheat, or mistreat you, simplify you, classify you, deny, defy, or crucify you. All I really want to do is, baby, be friends with you.
I believe in you, even though I be outnumbered.
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.
You use to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat, who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat.
You walk into the room like a camel and then put your eyes in your pockets and your nose on the ground.
A cork screw to my heart, ever since we've been apart.
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey, who pick up on his bread crumb sins, and there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.
Lord knows I've paid my dues getting through, tangled up in blue.
The rifleman's stalking the sick and the lame, preacherman seeks the same, who'll get there first is uncertain.
Shakespeare, he's in the alley with his pointed shoes and his bells, speaking to some French girl who says she knows me well.
With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks, you've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books.
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.
"America was founded on the backs of slaves."
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