|
Who would go to church but left me in the street |
|
With no parents of my own, I never had a home |
|
And an eighteen year old boy has got to eat |
|
She found me outside, Sunday morning |
|
Begging money from a man I didn't know |
|
She took me in and wiped away my childhood |
|
A lady of the streets this woman Rose |
|
This bed of rose's that I lay on |
|
Where I was taught to be a man |
|
This bed of rose's where I'm livin' |
|
Is the only kind of life I'll understand |
|
She was a handsome woman, just thirty-five |
|
Who was spoken to in town by very few |
|
She managed a late evening business |
|
Like most of the town wished they could do |
|
And I learned all the things that a man should know |
|
From a woman not approved of I suppose |
|
But she died knowing that I really loved her |
|
From life's bramble bush, I picked a rose |
|
This bed of rose's that I lay on |
|
Where I was taught to be a man |
|
This bed of rose's where I'm livin' |
|
Is the only kind of life I'll understand |
|
This bed of rose's that I lay on |
|
Where I was taught to be a man |
|
This bed of rose's where I'm livin' |
|
Is the only kind of life I'll understand |
|
Is the only kind of life I'll understand |
