Let me tell you about a man I know
who lives down on the rails
Let me tell you about a way of life
when the city ends and the road begins.
When it wasn’t so hard to make your way
before taxman comes and take all your pay
then one day you just get sick of it all
and walk down the tracks and drift away

Verse 1:
On a fine sunday morning, see an old man yawning,
the hobo woke up underneath the grocery store’s awning
I give food to the this dude and pay attention when he mentions/
that the city’s gone all shitty its idiocy is insidious
the epitome of pity in the soundbites
and brown lights of a cityscape that’s oh so pretty

Sitting on stoops he spits out truths
his old ways worked going old school always.
plus it didn’t hurt the lord lurked in his hallways
used to hear him shouting to god he’d call all day.

He never heard back ()but he kept on trying.()
Until one day he stopped and noticed he was crying.

Breakdown:
His face is old and his teeth are gone
his pace is slow but he shuffles on
he mumbles in tongues and speaks with a slur
I swear if you see him you address him “yes sir!”/

people talk and stare as they walk by and glare but they knew they couln’t do what he did could do they wouldn’t dare
the real deal hobo hasn’t settled or stopped,
been going strong for so long and yet still haven’t dropped.

Don’t drive a car and he doesn’t get emails
he smells like an ogre and repels most females.
cursing out customers outside the store
scaring the children while working the door

And noone calls on his birthday to wish him well
sometimes the lonely gets him he misses someone who listens well
he hasn't had a friend in who knows how long
and it seems he's always singing the same damn song

Chorus:
Day old donuts and cans of beans
dumpster chicken and river greens.
hopping on trains with lysol for wine
just another trip to the end of the line.

Verse 2:
one day I went looking for a man I’d often heard about
about the only thing I knew about this man was that he’d been sighted
by the nieghbors lighting fires in their trash cans
he used to smell the drying linen by the window spying looking
trynna to see into their lives and how they lived behind the glass
most of all he dreamed of ways to try to free them from the vast
empty space in which they raced around and paced holes in the hallways
absorbed by their walls and embraced by their wasteland

Verse 2

as he lay in the shade by the tracks where he stayed
in the shacks that were made by these quacks who obeyed
no code the open road would give him guidance, they’d focus
through blindness flash potion flask under overcoat liners.

emotions run high when it comes to relations
when all you really need is patience.
night watch not on they must've caught the dose or quota
the coast was clear he steers the tracks like a hobo’s suppose ta

a man like this is more than just a name on freights,
he's lived his life in crates and spent late nights in fields
and forced great laughs/ despite always having to run real
hobos don't slow down or pass on a hoedown/

How down? So down? Hit the road then the soda
had a bud in Minnesota hop a freight to dakota
some hobos go crazy get a little liquor in em
get to thinking they’ve been victim too long to shake the feeling

it’s a dying breed, a violent seed it needs a constant sponsor,
the road is much colder when not holding some golden/ liquid glowing/ sipping wino/ hi rolling/ dumpster dinner listerine/ fine candlelight dining

Dribble and Crumb, North American Bum.
what you use to stir coffee with? spoon or a thumb
Dribble and Crumb, North American Bum.
what you use to stir coffee with? spoon or a thumb

hey where you going what’s the rush why the hurry,

maybe one day he’ll forget the pain,
pack it all in and catch the westbound train.
but for now he’s just hanging for who knows how long
just riding the rails singing the same damn song

Chorus:
Day old donuts and cans of beans
dumpster chicken and river greens.
hopping trains with lysol for wine
just another drink to the end of the line.

Going for broke I’m homefree
I roam from home to home but where I’m at in his home to me.

catch the westbound train – curtain call
hobo convention – butte montana king of the hobos
highballer – trains you can ride on (express to cities)