Lyrics:

1970 album Bed Of RosesWriter(s): Harold Wilson ReidShe was called a scarlet woman by the peopleWho would go to church but left me in the streetWith no parents of my own, I never had a homeAnd an eighteen year old boy has got to eatShe found me outside one Sunday morningBegging money from a man I didn''t knowShe took me in and wiped away my childhoodA woman of the streets this lady RoseThis bed of Rose''s that I lay onWhere I was taught to be a manThis bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''Is the only kind of life I understandShe was a handsome woman, just thirty-fiveWho was spoken to in town by very fewShe managed a late evening businessLike most of the town wished they could doAnd I learned all the things that a man should knowFrom a woman not approved of I supposeBut she died knowing that I really loved herOff life''s bramble bush, I picked a roseThis bed of Rose''s that I lay onWhere I was taught to be a manThis bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''Is the only kind of life I understandThis bed of Rose''s that I lay onWhere I was taught to be a manThis bed of Rose''s where I''m livin''Is the only kind of life I understand