Lyrics:

1977
Writer(s): Harold Reid

She was called a scarlet woman by the people
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 one Sunday morning
Begging money from a man I didn't know
She took me in and wiped away my childhood
A woman of the streets this lady Rose

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 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
Off life's bramble bush, I picked a rose

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 understand

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 understand