Clouds so swift,
the rain won't lift
The gate won't close, the railings froze
Get your mind off wintertime
You ain't going nowhere
Ooo-wee, ride me
high
Tomorrow's the day my bride's gonna come
Oh Lord, are we gonna fly
Down in the easy chair
I don't care how
many letters they sent
The morning came and the morning went
Pick up your money, pack up your tent,
You ain't going nowhere
Buy me a flute
and a gun that shoots
Tailgates and substitutes
Strap yourself to the tree with roots
You ain't going nowhere
Gengis Khan he
could not keep
All his kings supplied with sleep
We'll climb that hill no matter how steep
When we get up to it
Written by: Bob
Dylan
License: Dwarf Music