<BGSOUND src="tunes/ELgb.mp3"> photo by: AMOS99 (Milan, ITALY) The speculators made their money on the blood you shed Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed Profiteers on Jhames Street sold your shoes and clothes Ain't nobody talking cause everybody knows We pulled your cycle out of the garage and polished up the chrome Our gypsy biker's coming home Sister Mary sits with your colors, Brother John is drunk and gone This old town's been rousted, which side you on The favored march over the hill, in some fool's parade Shouting victory for the righteous but there ain't much here but graves Ain't nobody talking but just waiting for the phone Gypsy biker's coming home Whoa! We rode into the foothills Bobby brought the gasoline We stood around her circle as she lit up the ravine The spring hot desert wind rushed down on us all the way back home But when you're dead it don't matter much Bout who's wrong or right You ask me a question I didn't get it right You slipped into your darkness Now all that remains Is my love for you brother Life's still unchanged To him that threw you away You ain't nothing but gone My gypsy biker coming home Now I'm out countin' white lines Countin' white lines and getting stoned My gypsy biker's coming home Whoa! ~Bruce Springsteen~ "Magic" ~ The American Leg "Magic" ~ The European Leg Bruce ~ The Main Index Bruce ~ Video Index Bruce ~ Holiday Treats Email: sanctified4one@yahoo.com
The speculators made their money on the blood you shed Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed Profiteers on Jhames Street sold your shoes and clothes Ain't nobody talking cause everybody knows We pulled your cycle out of the garage and polished up the chrome Our gypsy biker's coming home
Sister Mary sits with your colors, Brother John is drunk and gone This old town's been rousted, which side you on The favored march over the hill, in some fool's parade Shouting victory for the righteous but there ain't much here but graves Ain't nobody talking but just waiting for the phone Gypsy biker's coming home
Whoa!
We rode into the foothills Bobby brought the gasoline We stood around her circle as she lit up the ravine The spring hot desert wind rushed down on us all the way back home
But when you're dead it don't matter much Bout who's wrong or right You ask me a question I didn't get it right You slipped into your darkness Now all that remains Is my love for you brother Life's still unchanged To him that threw you away You ain't nothing but gone My gypsy biker coming home
Now I'm out countin' white lines Countin' white lines and getting stoned My gypsy biker's coming home
~Bruce Springsteen~
"Magic" ~ The American Leg "Magic" ~ The European Leg Bruce ~ The Main Index Bruce ~ Video Index Bruce ~ Holiday Treats
