As a matter of fact, the wheels HAVE stopped.

So I's modulating from a D to an A 

when I saw your eyebrows bendin' my way.

I was ready to go but I guess I'll stay; 

since, you know, I write, I get the final say.

Nothing's ever my fault, 'less it makes for good fiction,

while I'n always put you under interdiction.

So take some advice, babe, and save us some friction: 

don't whine, don't fuss, don't correct my diction.  Yeah.

Some words I'm putting into Bob Dylan's mouth. Unfair? I'm sure it's nothing he's scrupulous about.