East Of Woodstock, West Of Viet Nam 歌词

歌曲	East Of Woodstock, West Of Viet Nam
歌手	Tom Russell
下载	Image LRC TXT

	作曲 : Tom George Russell
	I slept through the
	Nineteen Sixties,
	I heard Dory
	Previn say
	But me I caught me the great white bird, to the shores of
	AfricayWhere
	I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking drum
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	And on the roads outside
	Oshogbo, Lord
	I fell down on my knees
	There were female spirits in old mud huts, iron bells ringing up in the trees
	And an eighty-year-old white priest, she made juju all night long
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we’re coming through the rye
	In the cinema
	I saw the man on the moon,
	I laughed so hard
	I criedIt was somewhere in those rainy seasons, that
	I learned to carve my song
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Oh Africa,
	Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my breast
	You old cradle of civilization, heart of darkness blood and death
	Though we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Well I think it’s going to rain tonight,
	I can smell it coming off the sea
	As I sit here reading old
	Graham Greene
	I taste Africa on every page
	Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads, and it’s sundown and boys
	I’m goneYeah,
	East of Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we’re coming through the rye
	It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a dark old lullaby
	It was the smoke of a thousand camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun,
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam.
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam

	zuo qu : Tom George Russell
	I slept through the
	Nineteen Sixties,
	I heard Dory
	Previn say
	But me I caught me the great white bird, to the shores of
	AfricayWhere
	I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking drum
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	And on the roads outside
	Oshogbo, Lord
	I fell down on my knees
	There were female spirits in old mud huts, iron bells ringing up in the trees
	And an eightyyearold white priest, she made juju all night long
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we' re coming through the rye
	In the cinema
	I saw the man on the moon,
	I laughed so hard
	I criedIt was somewhere in those rainy seasons, that
	I learned to carve my song
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Oh Africa,
	Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my breast
	You old cradle of civilization, heart of darkness blood and death
	Though we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Well I think it' s going to rain tonight,
	I can smell it coming off the sea
	As I sit here reading old
	Graham Greene
	I taste Africa on every page
	Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads, and it' s sundown and boys
	I' m goneYeah,
	East of Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we' re coming through the rye
	It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a dark old lullaby
	It was the smoke of a thousand camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun,
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam.
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam

	zuò qǔ : Tom George Russell
	I slept through the
	Nineteen Sixties,
	I heard Dory
	Previn say
	But me I caught me the great white bird, to the shores of
	AfricayWhere
	I lost my adolescent heart, to the sound of a talking drum
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	And on the roads outside
	Oshogbo, Lord
	I fell down on my knees
	There were female spirits in old mud huts, iron bells ringing up in the trees
	And an eightyyearold white priest, she made juju all night long
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we' re coming through the rye
	In the cinema
	I saw the man on the moon,
	I laughed so hard
	I criedIt was somewhere in those rainy seasons, that
	I learned to carve my song
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Oh Africa,
	Mother Africa, you lay heavy on my breast
	You old cradle of civilization, heart of darkness blood and death
	Though we had to play you running scared, when the crocodile ate the sun
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Well I think it' s going to rain tonight,
	I can smell it coming off the sea
	As I sit here reading old
	Graham Greene
	I taste Africa on every page
	Then I close my eyes and see those red clay roads, and it' s sundown and boys
	I' m goneYeah,
	East of Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam
	Raise high the roof beams carpenter boy, yeah we' re coming through the rye
	It was a moveable feast of war and memory, a dark old lullaby
	It was the smoke of a thousand camp fires, it was the wrong end of a gun,
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam.
	Yeah, East of
	Woodstock,
	West of Vietnam

YouTube搜索结果 (转至YouTube)