Dear Mr Dylan, I have never been a fan
But I like the way you structure your songs
I like the way they scan
I am just a silver-haired comedy troubadour*
I wouldn't know a Guthrie song if it smacked me in the jaw
What's the point of eulogising someone you don't like?
It's kind of disingenuous, but I like the way you write
Dear Mr Dylan, you will never be the same
If you refrain from the refrain
Dear Mr Dylan, now you're 70 years old
It seems churlish of me to say your songs just leave me cold
So keep on doing what you're doing, I know it's from the heart
God knows why you would listen to this boring old fart
I don't know if this is irony, pastiche or parody
None of these labels apply to you, nor to me
Dear Mr Dylan, here it comes again
Don't refrain from the refrain
You were born in Hibbing, which sounds like a hobby and a verb
For actively supporting Hibs, I know that sounds absurd
From the mean streets of Lumphinnans to Hibbing and Duluth
No-one knows what constitutes authority and truth
I'm not slagging off your legacy or slagging off your fans
I'm aware I play guitar with clumpy fingered farmers' hands
Dear Mr Dylan, this is driving me insane
Don't refrain from the refrain
