Lyrics:

1970 album Bed Of Roses**lf**Writer(s): Harold Wilson Reid**lf****lf**She was called a scarlet woman by the people**lf**Who would go to church but left me in the street**lf**With no parents of my own, I never had a home**lf**And an eighteen year old boy has got to eat**lf****lf**She found me outside one Sunday morning**lf**Begging money from a man I didn''t know**lf**She took me in and wiped away my childhood**lf**A woman of the streets this lady Rose**lf****lf**This bed of Rose''s that I lay on**lf**Where I was taught to be a man**lf**This bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''**lf**Is the only kind of life I understand**lf****lf**She was a handsome woman, just thirty-five**lf**Who was spoken to in town by very few**lf**She managed a late evening business**lf**Like most of the town wished they could do**lf****lf**And I learned all the things that a man should know**lf**From a woman not approved of I suppose**lf**But she died knowing that I really loved her**lf**Off life''s bramble bush, I picked a rose**lf****lf**This bed of Rose''s that I lay on**lf**Where I was taught to be a man**lf**This bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''**lf**Is the only kind of life I understand**lf****lf**This bed of Rose''s that I lay on**lf**Where I was taught to be a man**lf**This bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''**lf**Is the only kind of life I understand