(Bob Dylan)

Snow was piled up the stairs an onto the street that first
winter when I laid around New York City
It was a different street then-
It was a different village-
Nobody had nothin-
There was nothin t get-
Instead a bein drawn for money you were drawn
for other people-
Everybody used t hang around a heat pipe poundin subterranean
coffee house called the Gaslight-
It was at that time buried beneath the middle a MacDougal Street-
It was a strange place an not out a any schoolbook-
More'n seven nites a week the cops and firemen'd storm down the
steps handin' out summons for trumped up reasons-
More'n five nites a week out a town bullies'd start trouble an
everybody from John the owner t Dave the cook t Rod the cash
register ringer t Adele the waitress t anybody who was on the
stage t just plain friends who were hangin around would have
t come up swingin dishes an handles an brooms an chairs an
sometimes even swords 'at hung on the wall in order t match
the bullies' weight an the bullies was always big bullies-
Everybody that hung out at the Gaslight was close-
Yuh had t be-
In order t keep from going insane and in order t survive-
An it can't be denied-
It was a hangout-
But not like the street corner-
Down there we weren't standin lookin out at the world watchin
girls-and findin out how they walk-
We was lookin at each other ... and findin out about ourselves-
It is 'f these times that I remember most sadly-
For they're gone-
An they'll not never come again-
It is 'f these times I think about now-
I think back t one a them nites when the doors was locked
an maybe thirty or forty people sat as close t the stage as
they could-
It was another nite past one o'clock an that meant that the
tourists on the street coundn't get in-
At these hours there was no tellin what was bound t happen-
Never never could the greatest prophesizor ever guess it-
There was not such a thing as an audience-
There was not such a thing as performers-
Everybody did somethin-
An had something t say about somethin-
I remember Hugh who wore different kinda clothes then but
still shouted an tongue twisted flowin lines a poetry
that anybody who could be struck by the sounds 'f a rock
hittin a brick wall could understand-
I remember Luke playin his banjo and singin "East Virginia"
with a tone as soft as the snow outside an "Mr. Garfield"
with a bitin touch as hard as the stovepipe on the inside-
An Dave singin "House a the Risin Sun" with his back leaned
against the bricks an words runnin out in a lonesome
hungry growlin whisper that any girl with her face hid in the
dark could understand-
Paul then was a guitar player singer comedian-
But not the funny ha ha kind-
His funnyness could only be defined an described by the word
"hip" or "hyp"-
A combination a Charlie Chaplin Jonathan Winters and Peter Lorre-
Maybe it was that nite that somebody flicked a piece a card-
board in fron a the tiny spotlight an he made quick jerky
movements on the stage and everybody's eyes was seein first
hand a silent movie for real-
The bearded villan 'f an out a print picture-
There aint room enuff on thepaper t tell about everybody
that was there an exactly what they did-
Every nite was a true high degree novel-
Anyway it was one a these nites when Paul said
"Yuh gotta now hear me an Peter an Mary sing"
Mary's hair was down almost t her waist then-
An Peter's beard was only about half grown-
An the Gaslight stage was smaller
An the song they sung was younger-
But the walls shook
An everybody smiled-
An everybody felt good-
An down there approval didn't come with the clappin a hands
at the end 'f the song-
It came burstin out anytime any way it felt like
burstin out-
An they were approved-
By the people watchin 'm and by 'mselves-
Which really was one-
An that's where the beginnin was at-
Inside them walls 'f a subterranean world-
But it's a concrete kind a beginnin-
It's concrete cause it's close-
An that feelin aint t be forgotten-
Yuh carry it with yuh-
It's a feelin that's born an not bought
An it can't be taught-
An by livin with it yuh learn t see and know it in other
people-
T sing an speak as one yuh gotta think as one-
An yuh gotta believe as one-
An yuh gotta feel as one-
An Peter an Paul and Mary're now carryin the feelin
that was inside them walls up the steps t the whole
outside world-

The rooster never crowed on MacDougal Street-
There was no dew on the grass an the sun never came shinin
over the mountain-
There was nothin t tell yuh it was morning cept the
pins and needles feelin in yer arms an legs from stayin
up all nite-
But all 'f us find our way a knowing when it's mornin-
An once yuh know the feelin it don't change-
It can only grow-
For Peter's grown
An Paul's grown
An Mary's grown
An the times've grown