Do You Sing Any Dylan? --- Eric Bogle
At the
[A]age
of nineteen, I was [D]young,
I was keen and I [A]had
just one burning am-[E]bition;
To
[A]be
a folk singer, a [D]dope-smoking
swinger, singing [A]songs
that were [E]steeped
in tra- [A]dition
So I
[D]bought
a guitar and I [A]practiced
real hard; I [D]wasn;t
much good, but was [E]willin’.
‘Til
[A]to
my chagrin, my [D]girlfriend
came in and she [A]said,
“Can you [E]sing
any [A]Dylan?”
[chorus] And I said,
[D]“No,
no. A [A]thousand
times no!
I’d rather see
my life-blood [E]spillin’
I’ll
[A]sing
anything, even [D]
‘God Save The King’
But I
[A]just
won’t sing [E]any
Bob [A]Dylan.”
And
[A]with
my guitar I [D]traveled
real far, [A]trying
to gain recog-[E]nition.
I
[A]sang
“Matty Groves” from St. [D]Paul
to Glen Cove, in [A]pubs,
clubs, and [E]in
seamen’s [A]missions.
I
[D]traveled
the road for [A]seven
long years; [D]the
pace it really was [E]killin’.
And where-[A]ever
I went, from [D]Scotland
to Kent, they would [A]say,”Can
you [E]sing
any [A]Dylan?”
[chorus]
Well
[A]I
soldiered on but the [D]magic
was gone leavin’ [A]naught
but a deep sense of [E]failure.
So I
[A]thought
I would go to where [D]all
faiures go, and I [A]took
me a [E]ship
to Aus-[A]tralia.
When I
[D]landed
in Sydney the [A]Sun
it shone down, on a [D]view
that was lovely and [E]thrillin’.
On
[A]seeing
my case, with a [D]smile
on his face, Customs [A]said,
“Can you [E]sing
any [A]Dylan,
mate?”
[chorus]
Well
[A]ever
since then, a-[D]gain
and again, they’ve [A]asked
me the same
boring [E]question.
And I
[A]usually
reply,with a [D]glint
in my eye and a [A]rather
in-[E]decent
sug-[A]gestion.
But the
[D]last
straw it came at a [A]local
motel where I [D]had
a young girl who was [E]willin’.
Put my
[A]hand
up her dress and she [D]said,
“I’ll say ‘yes’ – if [A]first
you will [E]sing
me some [A]Dylan.”
[chorus]
But I
[A]tell
you my friend, [D]that
was the end of my [A]traditional
aspir-[E]ations.
If
[A]bein’
a Folkie meant [D]givin’
up nookie there was [A]one
way to [E]end
my frus-[A]trations.
So the
[D]very
next night at a-[A]nother
folk club where the [D]audience
around me was [E]millin’
I
[A]took
off my coat and I [D]ruptured
my throat and I [A]sang
a song [E]just
like Bob [A]Dylan.
The
[A]audience
went wild – man, [D]woman
and child; they [A]clapped
‘til their poor hands were [E]bleedin’.
They
[A]said,
so to speak, that my [D]style
was unique, and [A]just
what the [E]Folk
Scene was [A]needin’.
So
[D]all
you young Folkies who [A]play
a guitar, if you [D]want
to achieve a top [E]billin’
Just [A]murder
good prose and [D]sing through your nose,
and [A]then you’ll sound [E]just
like Bob [A]Dylan.