Fourth Time Around (Cifras)

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#This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the #

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From: [email protected] (Petter Larsson)



Fourth Time Around  -  Bob Dylan

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('Blonde on Blonde' album)





F        Bb        F        Bb



F    Bb               F           Bb                 F        Bb             F

When she said, "Don't waste your words, they're just lies," I cried she was deaf.

          Bb         F            Bb             F              Bb               F

And she worked on my face until breaking my eyes, Then said, "What else you got left?"

        Am                                                     Gm

It was then that I got up to leave But she said, "Don't forget,

      F         Bb                F     Bb                 F    Bb    F    Bb

Ev'rybody must give something back For something they get."





F   Bb            F           Bb          F        Bb             F

I stood there and hummed, I tapped on her drum and asked her how come.

        Bb           F            Bb                 F          Bb               F

And she buttoned her boot, And straightened her suit, Then she said, "Don't get cute."

     Am                                                     Gm

So I forced my hands in my pockets And felt with my thumbs,

    F          Bb          F      Bb                 F    Bb    F    Bb

And gallantly handed her My very last peice of gum.





F     Bb         F        Bb          F         Bb           F

She threw me outside, I stood in the dirt where ev'ry-one walked.

    Bb            F      Bb              F    Bb            F

And after finding I'd Forgotten my shirt, I went back and knocked.

  Am                                                                   Gm

I waited in the hallway, she went to get it, And I tried to make sense,

             F         Bb               F             Bb                 F    Bb    F    Bb

Out of that picture of you in your wheelchair That leaned up against...





F   Bb       F        Bb           F      Bb              F

Her Jamaican rum And when she did come, I asked her for some.

    Bb         F                Bb                     F             Bb             F

She said, "No, dear." I said, "Your words aren't clear, You'd better spit out your gum."

    Am                                                             Gm

She screamed  till her face got so red, Then she fell on the floor,

      F            Bb              F          Bb                       F    Bb    F    Bb

And I covered her up and then Thought I'd go look through her drawer.





F     Bb        F           Bb         F        Bb             F

And when I was through, I filled up my shoe And brought it to you.

         Bb          F    Bb               F    Bb            F

And you, you took me in, You loved me then, You didn't waste time.

         Bb         F              Bb                   F      Bb               F   Bb   F

And I, I never took much, I never asked for your crutch, Now don't ask for mine.



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Typed by  Petter Larsson , [email protected]