It starts with that organ. Al Kooper’s swirling, gospel-adjacent Hammond B3 kicks in, and for a second, you think you’re in for a warm hug of a 1960s pop hit. Then Bob Dylan opens his mouth. The first line isn't a greeting; it’s a physical shove. When we talk about the lyrics of Positively 4th Street by Bob Dylan, we aren't talking about poetry in the traditional, flowery sense. We’re talking about a public execution set to a 4/4 beat.
He’s angry. No, it’s deeper than that. He’s disgusted.
Released in 1965, right on the heels of the massive success of "Like a Rolling Stone," this track didn't even make it onto an album at first. It was a standalone single, a jagged little pill meant to be swallowed by the very people who thought they were in Dylan's inner circle. There’s no chorus. There’s no hook, really, other than the relentless, cyclical nature of his accusations. It’s just verse after verse of pure, unadulterated vitriol directed at someone who has clearly crossed a line.
Who Is He Actually Talking To?
The great parlor game of the mid-60s folk scene was trying to figure out the target. If you ask a dozen Dylanologists, you’ll get a dozen different names. Some say it’s Irwin Silber, the editor of Sing Out! magazine, who wrote a "famous" open letter to Bob essentially accusing him of selling out the folk movement for rock and roll riches. Others swear it’s Phil Ochs, the protest singer who had a famously prickly relationship with Dylan.
Honestly? It doesn't matter.
The power of the lyrics of Positively 4th Street by Bob Dylan lies in their universality. We’ve all had that one friend. You know the type. They’re there when you’re down because it makes them feel superior, but the second you find a bit of light, they start shading you. Dylan captures that specific brand of "fair-weather" loyalty with a precision that feels like a surgical strike. He calls them out for having a "lot of nerve" to even claim to be his friend. It’s brutal.
The Anatomy of a Put-Down
Let’s look at the structure. Most pop songs of the era were trying to get you to fall in love or go to the hop. Dylan was out here using his airtime to tell someone they were a "backstabber" without actually using the word.
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The line "You got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend / When I was down you just stood there grinning" sets the stage. It’s a classic betrayal. But he gets meaner. He moves into the psychology of the parasite. He talks about how this person wants to be on the side that's winning. It’s a critique of the Greenwich Village scene that birthed him—a scene that was becoming increasingly judgmental as he traded his acoustic guitar for a Fender Stratocaster.
The rhyme scheme is deceptive. It’s simple, almost nursery-rhyme-like (AABB), which makes the harshness of the words stand out even more. It’s like being slapped by someone who’s smiling.
The Greenwich Village Context
You have to remember what 4th Street was. It was the heart of the folk revival. It was the "Wha?" and the "Gaslight Cafe." It was a small, insular world where everyone knew everyone’s business. By 1965, Dylan had outgrown it. He was a global superstar, and the folks back on 4th Street weren't all happy for him.
They felt he owed them something. They felt his success was a betrayal of their shared "poverty-is-purity" aesthetic. Dylan saw through it. He saw the jealousy disguised as moral superiority.
When he sings, "You see me on the street, you always act surprised," he’s calling out the performative nature of their interactions. It’s that fake, "Oh my god, so good to see you!" followed immediately by a whisper to a neighbor about how your hair looks or how your new record is too loud.
Why the Song is a Masterclass in Perspective
Most "breakup" songs—and make no mistake, this is a breakup song, just for a friendship—focus on the pain of the singer. Dylan doesn't do that here. He doesn't sound hurt. He sounds tired. He sounds like he’s finally done with the charade.
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There’s a specific line that usually gets people: "I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes / You’d know what a drag it is to see you."
That is a cold-blooded ending. It’s the ultimate "it’s not me, it’s definitely you."
The song doesn't offer a resolution. There’s no "but I forgive you" or "let’s talk it out." It’s a closed door. In the context of 1965, this was revolutionary. Pop music was supposed to be polite. Even the "bad boys" of the British Invasion were singing about wanting to hold your hand. Dylan was singing about how much he despised your presence.
The Recording That Shouldn't Have Worked
The session for this song was actually a bit of a mess. It was recorded during the Highway 61 Revisited sessions, which were notoriously chaotic. But that chaos serves the track. The organ is just a little too loud. Dylan’s voice is right up in your ear, dripping with a sneer that you can almost see.
It reached number 7 on the Billboard Hot 100. Think about that for a second. In an era dominated by The Beatles, The Supremes, and Herman’s Hermits, a six-verse poem about how much a former friend sucks became a top-ten hit. It proved that audiences were hungry for something that felt real, even if that reality was ugly.
Misconceptions and Fan Theories
People often confuse this song with "Like a Rolling Stone" because they share a similar vibe of "fallen grace." But "Rolling Stone" is almost sympathetic in its "How does it feel?" inquiry. "Positively 4th Street" has zero sympathy.
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Another misconception is that it was written about Edie Sedgwick or Andy Warhol’s factory crowd. While Dylan was certainly moving in those circles and there was plenty of friction there, the specific references to "the side that's winning" and the "nerve to say you are my friend" point much more directly toward the folkies he left behind in the Village.
Actionable Takeaways from the Lyrics
While we aren't all Nobel Prize-winning songwriters, the lyrics of Positively 4th Street by Bob Dylan offer some pretty solid life lessons if you look past the 1960s slang.
- Audit Your Circle: If someone only checks in to see if you’ve failed yet, they aren't a friend. They’re a spectator. Dylan’s vitriol is a reminder that you don't owe these people your time.
- The Power of Directness: Sometimes, "becoming the bigger person" just means letting people walk all over you. Dylan shows that there is a time and place for a firm, clear "no" to toxic behavior.
- Don't Fear Growth: The song exists because Dylan changed. He moved on. If people from your past are mad that you’re not the same person you were five years ago, that’s their problem, not yours.
- Art as Catharsis: If you’re feeling betrayed, lean into it. Dylan didn't suppress his anger; he turned it into a hit record. You can turn your frustrations into something productive too.
The legacy of the song is its honesty. It doesn't try to be nice. It doesn't try to be "fair." It’s one man’s truth, delivered with a smirk and a Hammond organ. It remains the gold standard for the "kiss-off" song because it doesn't just burn the bridge—it nukes the entire river.
If you find yourself relating to these lyrics today, don't feel bad. It just means you’ve finally learned how to spot the fakes. And as Dylan proves, once you see them, the only thing left to do is tell them exactly where they stand.
To truly understand the weight of these words, listen to the mono version of the single. It has a punch that the stereo mixes sometimes lose. Pay attention to the way Dylan lingers on the word "dissatisfied" in the third verse. It’s not just a word; it’s a diagnosis of the other person’s soul. That’s the genius of the man. He doesn't just call you a name; he explains why you’re broken.
Next Steps for the Dylan Enthusiast
To get the full picture of this era, listen to the "Live at the Free Trade Hall 1966" (the famous "Judas" concert). You’ll hear the same bite in his voice that defines "Positively 4th Street," but amplified by a crowd that was actively booing him. It provides the perfect sonic context for why he felt the need to write such a defensive, aggressive masterpiece. Read through the 1965 interview with Nora Ephron as well; she catches him in this exact headspace—brilliant, arrogant, and totally unwilling to suffer fools.