Upper Left

Labels: Bob Dylan, Juan Cole, Lyrics, Map Of The Day, Obamacare

Labels: Bob Dylan, Medal Of Freedom, President Obama, Progress

Hey, Bob Dylan, I wrote you a song.
Today is your birthday if I'm not wrong.
If I'm not mistaken you're fifty seventy one today,
How are you doin', Bob? What do you say?...

Labels: Birthdays, Bob Dylan, Folk Music, Loudon Wainwright III, Music

New data released by the IRS reveals that, over a period of 12 years, tax rates for the richest 400 Americans were effectively cut in half. In 1995, the richest 400 Americans paid, on average, 29.93% of their income in federal taxes. In 2007, the last year for which the IRS has released data, the richest 400 Americans paid just 16.63%.

In 1995, just 12 of the 400 richest Americans paid an effective tax rat of between zero and 15%. By 2007, that number skyrocketed to over 150. The massive reduction is due to both Bush-era tax reductions for the wealthy and the aggressive exploitation of tax dodges and shelters.

Labels: Bob Dylan, Class War, Distribution Of Wealth, High Income Tax, Taxes

The Handsome Family - Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues
Jerry Garcia & David Grisman - She Belongs To Me
Todd Snider - You're A Big Girl Now
Michael Weston King - Simple Twist Of Fate
The Walkabouts - Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands
The Long Ryders - Highway 61 Revisited
Joan Baez - Farewell Angelina
Warren Haynes - I Shall Be Released
Jimmy LaFave - One Too Many Mornings
Rosie Flores - Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You

Labels: Birthdays, Bob Dylan, Music, Random Ten

Labels: Bob Dylan, Concerts, Ho Chi Min City, Music, Signs Of The Apocalypse, Vietnam

A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game.

A South politician preaches to the poor white man
"You got more than blacks, don't complain
You're better than them, you been born with white skin" they explain
And the Negro's name
Is used it is plain
For the politician's gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
And the hoof beats pound in his brain
And he's taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide 'neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain't got no name
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game.

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
They lowered him down as a king
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain:
Only a pawn in their game.

Labels: Barack Obama, Bob Dylan, Class War, Music