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(Eric Bogle)

At the age of nineteen, I was young, I was keen
And I had just one burning ambition:
To be a folksinger, a dope-smoking swinger
Sing songs that were steeped in tradition
So I bought a guitar and I practiced real hard
I wasn't much good, but I was willin'
Till to my chagrin, my girlfriend came in
And she said: "Can you play any Dylan?"

Ch: I said "No! No! A thousand times no!
I'd rather see my lifeblood spillin'
I'd sing everything, even 'God Save The King'
But I just won't sing any Bob Dylan"

And with my guitar I traveled real far,
Trying to get recognition
I sang 'The Wild Rover' from Dundee to Dover
In pubs, clubs and in seaman's missions (Hullo, sailor)
I travelled the road for seven long years
My pace, it really was killin'
And everywhere I went from Guaya to Gwent
They would say: "Can you play any Dylan?" (Can you?)

Well, I struggled on, but the magic was gone
I only had a deep sense of failure
I thought then I'd go to where all failures go
So I boarded a ship for Australia
When I landed at Sydney the sun it shone down
'Twas a view that was lovely and thrillin'
Till spotting my case with a smile on his face
Custom said: "Can you sing any Dylan?" (man)

And ever since then, again and again,
I've been asked the same bloody question
And I usually reply in me own quiet way
With a totally indecent suggestion
But the last time came on at the local motel
When I had a young girl who was willin'
As she slipped off her dress she said "I'll say yes
If only you sing some Bob Dylan" (Big boy. Big big big boy)

But I tell you my friends, that was the end
Of all my traditional aspirations
If bein' a folkie was gonna cut off my nookie
There was one way to end my frustration
The next night I sang at my local folk club
Where the audience as usual was millin'
Till I took off my coat and I ructured my throat
And I sang just like Bob Dylan:

(sing first verse of "The Times They Are A-Changin'" extremely through
the nose so that no-one understands a word)

Well the audience went wild, mans, womans and childs
And they clapped till their raw hands were bleedin'
And said so to speak that my style was unique
And just what this dreary folk scene was needin'
So all you young folkies who bash out the cart
If you want to attain the top billin'
Just murder good prose and sing through your nose
And then you'll sing just like Bob Dylan.

(sing last line of each verse with heavy accent)
recorded by Eric Bogle on "In Concert - live" (1985)
copyright Larrikin Music
"Early in my career I got sick of people asking me to sing Bob Dylan songs.
Does he sing any of mine? No. So this protest song was the result."- E.Bogle

It's quite fun to compare this song with the very similar song BANDPLY2,
whose author complains that all the audience wants to hear is ERIC's song
"And The Band Played Waltzing Mathilda".
@folkmusic @humor
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