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I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I wake up in the morning
Fold my hands and pray for rain
I got a head full of ideas
That are drivin' me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
Well, he hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you with a grin
If you're havin' a good time
Then he fines you every time you slam the door
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more
No, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more
Well, he puts his cigar out in your face just for kicks
His bedroom window it is made out of bricks
The National Guard stands around his door
Ah, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's pa no more, alright
Bob Dylan, "Maggie's Farm", do álbum Bringing it all back home, 1965.
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