Maybe someday you will understand, that something for nothing is everybody's plan.

I was sick of the way my lyrics had been extrapolated, their meanings subverted into polemics and that I had been anointed as the Big Bubba of Rebellion, High Priest of Protest, the Duke of Disobedience, Leader of the Freeloaders, Kaiser of Apostasy, Archbishop of Anarchy, the Big Cheese. Horrible titles any way you want to look at it. All code words for Outlaw.

Once I went into songwriting, I figured I had to - I couldn't be a hellfire rock 'n' roller. But I could write hellfire lyrics.

It's like my whole life never happened, When I see you, it's as if I never had a thought. I know this dream, it might be crazy, But it's the only one I've got.

Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen And keep your eyes wide The chance won't come again And don't speak too soon For the wheel's still in spin And there's no tellin' who That it's namin' For the loser now Will be later to win For the times they are a-changin'.

In the dime stores and bus stations, people talk of situations, read books, repeat quotations, draw conclusions on the wall.

Mona Lisa must have had the highway blues; you can tell by the way she smiles.