Who would go to church but left me in the street
With no parents of my own, I never had a home
And an eighteen year old boy has got to eat.
She found me outside, Sunday morning
Begging money from a man I didn't know
She took me in and wiped away my childhood
A lady of the streets this woman Rose.
[Chorus]
This bed of Rose's that I lay on
Where I was taught to be a man
This bed of Rose's where I'm livin'
Is the only kind of life I'll understand.
She was a handsome woman, just thirty-five
Who was spoken to in town by very few
She managed a late evening business
Like most of the town wished they could do.
And I learned all the things that a man should know
From a woman not approved of I suppose
But she died knowing that I really loved her
From life's bramble bush, I picked a rose.
[Chorus]
This bed of Rose's that I lay on
Where I was taught to be a man
This bed of Rose's where I'm livin'
Is the only kind of life I'll understand.
Writer(s): Harold Wilson Reid
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