The Old Street Singer

th Fret Intro: You old street singer, some call you a bum Sitting on a park bench soaking up the sun Singing to the children and the people passing by With a bottle in a paper bag and a banjo at your side Anyone would know you if they'd take the time to look Underneath those ragged clothes they'd read you like a book They'd see it in your eyes, the corners of your smile There's more to this old street bum than too many dusty miles The motel room must get so very small A bed and a chair and memories on the wall In a city full of strangers far away from times You've made that banjo ring in across a picket line You go downstairs and out on the street Sit there waiting for everyone you meet Some they ignore you, some they ask you why Some they dance to the tune you're playing to the sky INTERLUDE: Passing through a city, one day you'll see him there Stop and listen to his tunes, let him know you hear Put a dollar in the box that sits there at his feet Tip your hat to the man who's singing in the street 'Cause if you stop and listen, you'll hear it every time Melodies around you, the rhythms and the rhymes In the stares of passing strangers, questions of the young The barking of a stray dog and the memories of a street bum The barking of a stray dog and the memories of a street bum