Written by Harold Reid/Harold Wilson Reid
Transcribed: J. Jezard Subject: Bed of Roses You'll have to figure out how it starts. I still can't figure it out. A D A she was called the scarlet woman by the people E who would go to Church, but left me in the street A D with no kinfolk of my own, I never had a home B7 E and a eighteen year old boy has got to eat A D A She found me outside one Sunday morning E Begging money from someone I didn't know A D A She took me in a wipe away my childhood E A A woman of the streets, that lady rose A D A E This bed of rose's that I lay on, where I was taught to be a man A D A E A This bed of rose's that I live in, is the only kind of life I understand A D A E she was a handsome woman just fourty-five, who was spoken to in town by very few A D A B7 E She managed a late evening business, like most of the town wish they could do. A D A Well I learned all the things, that a man should know E from a woman not approved of I suppose A D A E A but she died knowing that I really loved her, from life bramble bush I picked a rose