When Dylan went electric my whole world tore apart.
But I'm still singing folksongs these two chords are my art.
I don't need no record contracts, no million dollar figures.
No
I'm still singing folksongs, in dirty little coffee houses
Where the waitresses all hate me
And there's no free-drink-policy, and the drunk in the corner
Wants to hear Mr. Bojangles for the ten millionth time til they
Pry this old guitar
From my cold dead fingers.

http://www.angelfire.com/wi/kokopeli/oldfolk.html