by Bob Dylan



You know, there's two ol' maids layin' in the bed,

One picked herself up an' the other one, she said:

"Get your rocks off!

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"



Well, you know, there late one night up on Blueberry Hill,

One man turned to the other man and said, with a blood-curdlin' chill, he said:

"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"



Well, you know, we was layin' down around Mink Muscle Creek,

One man said to the other man, he began to speak, he said:

"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off-a me! (Get 'em off!)"



Well, you know, we was cruisin' down the highway in a Greyhound bus.

All kinds-a children in the side road, they was hollerin' at us, sayin':

"Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off! (Get 'em off!)

Get your rocks off-a me!"