I’m a travelin’ man
I’ve made a lot of stops
All over the world
And in every part I own the heart
Of at least one lovely girl
Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man,
Trying to make a living, and doing the best I can,
When it’s time for leaving, I hope you’ll understand, That I was born a ramblin’ man…
Backatcha, Beck. I somehow knew you’d be the one contributing lyrics from “Come Saturday Morning.” 
Well, she was so damned beautiful she could warm a winter’s frost.
But she was long past lonely, and well nigh, kinda lost.
Now I’m not much of a mover, or a pick-em-up easy guy,
But I decided to glide on over, and give her one good try.
And Lord, Lord, Lord–she was worth a try.
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful
You’re beautiful, it’s true
I saw your face in a crowded place
And I don’t know what to do
'Cause I’ll never be with you
You are beautiful
No matter what they say
Words can’t bring you down
Oh no
You are beautiful
In every single way
Yes words can’t bring you down
Oh no
So don’t you bring me down today
You are so beautiful, to me.
You are so beautiful, to me.
Can’t you see?
You’re everything I hope for;
You’re everything I need.
You are so beautiful to me.
Tap on my window,
Knock on my door, I want to make you feel beautiful,
I know I tend to get so insecure,
In doesn’t matter anymore…
It’s a beautiful mornin’
I think I’ll go outside awhile,
And just smile.
Just take in some clean fresh air, boy
Ain’t no sense in stayin’ inside
If the weather’s fine and you got the time.
It’s your chance to wake up and plan another brand new day.
Either way,
It’s a beautiful mornin’
Morning has broken, like the first morning,
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.
Praise for the singing,
Praise for the morning,
Praise for them springing, fresh from the world.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk
I’m wishing Lord that I was stoned
‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’
That’s half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepin’ city sidewalk
And Sunday mornin’ comin’ down
And here, she’s acting happy
Inside her handsome home
And me, I’m flying in my taxi
Taking tips, and getting stoned
I go flying so high, when I’m stoned
Well, they’ll stone you when you’re trying to be so good
They’ll stone you just like they said they would
They’ll stone you when you’re trying to go home
And they’ll stone you when you’re there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody must get stoned
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hanging out
Now you don’t talk so loud
Now you don’t seem so proud
About having to be scrounging your next meal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone
Can you surry, can you picnic?
Can you surry, can you picnic?
Surry down to a stoned soul picnic
Surry down to a stoned soul picnic
There’ll be lots of time and wine
Red yellow honey, sassafras and moonshine
Red yellow honey
Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry,
When I take you out in the Surrey,
When I take you out in the Surrey,
With the fringe on the top…
Evelyn, a modified dog
Viewed the quivering fringe of a special doily
Draped across the piano, with some surprise
In the darkened room
Where the chairs dismayed
And the horrible curtains
Muffled the rain
She could hardly believe her eyes
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof
Who let the dogs out
Me and you and a dog named Boo,
Travelin’ and livin’ off the land.
Me and you and a dog named Boo,
How I love being a free man.
Old dog Tray’s ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He’s gentle, he is kind;
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.
The dogs they had a party,
They came from near and far.
Some dogs came by taxi
And some dogs came by car.
And each dog wrote its name down
Inside a tiny book,
And each dog hung its asshole
Upon a tiny hook.