by Bob Dylan



Well, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.

The poor little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed

On the very next day, with a nose full of pus.

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread



It's a one-track town, just brown, and a breeze, too,

Pack up the meat, sweet, we're headin' out

For Wichita in a pile of fruit.

Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout

Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout

Get the loot, don't be slow, we're gonna catch a trout



Now, pull that drummer out from behind that bottle.

Bring me my pipe, we're gonna shake it.

Slap that drummer with a pie that smells.

Take me down to California, baby

Take me down to California, baby

Take me down to California, baby



Yes, the comic book and me, just us, we caught the bus.

The poor little chauffeur, though, she was back in bed

On the very next day, with a nose full of pus.

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread

Yea! Heavy and a bottle of bread