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| Bob Dylan Bootleg Series, Vols. 1-3: Rare & Unreleased, 1961-1991 Santa Fe Santa-fe, Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe, My woman needs it ev'ryday, She promised this a-lad she'd stay, She's rollin' up a lotta bread To toss away. She's in santa-fe, Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe Now she's opened up an old maid's home, She's proud, but she needs to roam, She's gonna write herself a roadside poem, About santa-fe. Santa-fe, Dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe. Since i'm never gonna cease to roam, I'm never, ever far from home, But i'll build a geodesic dome And sail away. Don't feel bad. No, no, no, no, don't feel bad It's the best food i've ever had. Makes me feel so glad That she's cooking in a home-made pad She never caught a cold so bad When i'm away. Santa-fe, Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe. My shrimp boat's in the bay I won't have my nature this way, And i'm leanin' on the wheel each day To drift away From santa-fe, Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear santa-fe. My sister looks good at home, She's lickin' on an ice cream cone, She's packin' her big white comb, What does it weigh? |
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