You Can Be A Street Musician!
© 2013 Reggie Miles All rights reserved

You can be a street musician!
It doesn’t take a lot of ambition.
It don’t take talent or ejamakashun.
And it's more fun than workin’ at a fillin’ station.

Or some theivin’, lyin’ corporation,
like Worldcom or Enron,
or one of them other dot cons.
I could go on,
but what’s the use.

So come on down and don’t be shy.
Sing songs to folks as they walk by.
Strum and rant and stomp your feet,
Express yourself out on the street.

It’s called freedom of expression people.
It’s not guaranteed via the ever- increasing and constant tuition,
as some would have you believe.
But it's promised to every red blooded American
by the first amendment of the Constitution.
That's Constitution not constant tuition!

You can sing requests all day long.
It don’t matter if the words are wrong.
Pour your heart out or just play covers.
Sing the blues about your lost lovers.

Oh where, oh where has my little love gone?

If you want, you can get political,
Just as long as you’re not a little too critical.
Sing silly songs to make folks laugh.
Don’t have to cut your hair or take a bath.

[Sniff, sniff] Smells like somethin’ died over here.
I hope it’s not my song.

You can arise from bed at the crack of noon.
Spend an hour or so just to get in tune.
Swallow a steamin’ black pot o’ jo,
To get yourself up before the show.

No, I would not like cream or sugar with that.
On second thought, better make mine
a double espresso ice cream float
with plenty of chocolate syrup,
a Mount Rainer of whipped cream on top
and don't be shy with them nuts darlin.

Then look around for a likely location,
To begin your musical vocation.
At an outdoor market or a subway station,
Or where ever folks need edification.

Right here looks like a good place to me.

Divorce yourself from the ol’ rat race,
And open up your guitar case.
You’re sure to find somebody who,
Will be happy to donate a buck or two.

A quarter, a dime or a nickel’ll do.
How about a penny,
or how 'bout the keys to your SUVs?

You can make a million dollars a year,
If you start out with two million‘s what I hear.
It’s easy to do, take it from me,
It’s more fun than playin’ the lottery.

And all the money goes
to the tired, the sick and the hungry
and you’re lookin’ at ‘im.
I am so sick and tired
of bein’ sick and tired and hungry.

You can be your own boss and employee too,
With nobody to tell you what to do.
Record and sell your own CD,
Start your own recording company.

I think I’ll call mine,
“Starvin’ For Your Attention Productions”.

So if you’re lookin’ for a brand new job,
And you don’t want to beg or steal or rob,
Take my advice, here’s what to do,
Become a street musician too!

But it’ll cost ya.
I hear their thinkin’ of raisin’ the street musician permit fee
from 25 dollars a year to 50 dollars a year .
Looks like I gotta git me a job
just to be able to afford
to play music on the street
fer a livin’.
Hmmm.
Wus up wi dat?

But if you worry about making money,
Better find yourself a rich little honey.
Then you can just sit around and play,
On your guitar all the livelong day.

Huh?
What’s that honey?
You want me to get a what?
How about I become a street musician?
(Winces) Yep, that’s what I thought you’d say.
How dare she use them four letter words
around a guy like me,
like, w-o-r-k and a-j-o-b!

You can lose a lot of weight playin’ music on the street.
Cuz sometimes you can’t make enough to afford to eat.
I saw a bunch o’ them buskers in the alley up the street.
They were so poor. I said they were so poor...
How poor were they?
They were so poor,
they were all standin around,
sharin’ one tiny,
twisted up,
smelly little cigareet.

No comment!

You can be weight watchers and watch me lose,
Hundreds of pounds whilst I’m singin’ these blues.
I’ll waste away right before your eyes,
Till my skin ‘n’ bones are fossilized.

Won’t be enough left over
to even attract the flies.
‘S what I surmise.