Ai, t'en recordes quan vesties bé,
i a tots els pobrets donaves dinês? Sí o no?
La gent dîa: «No vages ju'ant, que un dia o âtre entropessaràs.»
T'en recordes d'això?
Rient-te de la gent
i de tot el que era diferent;
ara ja no parles gens,
però ni ganes en tens
mentre furgues en el fem buscant menjar.

Què es el que sents?
Què és el que sents
quan casa no tens,
com un indigent,
un cul de mal seient?

Als millors col·legis vas anar,
i no van aconseguir traure't trellat ni forrellat.
Ni et van ensenyar com viure al carrer,
perquè això és una cosa que no pots saber fins que ho has provat.
Dîes «açò vull, açò no vull,»
però ara t'hauràs d'ajustar als fulls;
penses, «qui no sembra no cull»
quan el mires al buit dels seus ulls
i li dius: «Vols que t'ensenye els meus pèls rulls?»

Què és el que sents?
Què és el que sents
en ser independent,
mentre t'estàs desfent
com un indigent,
un cul de mal seient?

No et girares mai per a vôrel's bé, als pallassos i als joglars
quan venien i et fêen els seus trucs.
No et digueren mai que no està gens bé
fer que a âtres els tocaren puntellons que eren per a tu?
Pujada al carro del teu estimat,
un que portava dalt del muscle un gat...
A que fot quan te n'has adonat
que no estava on sempre havia estat,
després de furtar-te tot el que va trobar?

Reina del carrer, on tota la gent
beu i es pensa que ja està tot clar i ben lligat
bescanvien tot tipus de regals
mentre tu hauràs d'empenyorar el teu anell; quin remei!
Et pareixia tan vulgar
el vell Napoleó i el seu parlar...
Vés, que ara ja no et pots negar
quan ja no et pots permetre el rebutjar;
t'has fet invisible, no tens res a amagar...

Què és el que sents?
Què és el que sents
en ser independent,
mentre t'estàs desfent
com un indigent,
un cul de mal seient?

© 2002 de la lletra: Toni de l'Hostal (nét).

Once upon a time you dressed so fine,
you threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say: «Beware doll, you're bound to fall.»
You thought they were all kiddin' you.
You used to laugh about
everybody that was hangin' out;
now you don't talk so loud,
now you don't seem so proud
about having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel?
How does it feel
to be without a home,
like a complete unknown,
like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school; all right, Miss Lonely,
but you know you only used to get juiced in it.
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street,
and now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it.
You said you'd never compromise
with the mystery tramp, but now you realize
he's not selling any alibis
as you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
and ask him, «do you want to make a deal?»

How does it feel?
How does it feel
to be on your own,
with no direction home,
like a complete unknown,
like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
when they all come down and did tricks for you.
You never understood that it ain't no good:
you shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you!
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat,
who carried on his shoulder a siamese cat:
Ain't it hard when you discover that
he really wasn't where it's at,
after he took from you everything he could steal?

How does it feel?
How does it feel
to be on your own,
with no direction home,
like a complete unknown,
like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple, and all the pretty people
they're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made,
exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things,
but you'd better lift your diamond ring; you'd better pawn it, babe!
You used to be so amused
at Napoleon in rags and the language that he used;
go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
when you got nothing, you got nothing to lose:
you're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal...

How does it feel?
How does it feel
to be on your own,
with no direction home,
like a complete unknown,
like a rolling stone?

Lyrics © 1965 by Bob Dylan; renewed 1993 Special Rider Music.