The Folkie Oh I am a folk musician tho' my songs are seldom sold, 'cause I masacre the music with three feet of spanish chipboard and a capo.. I do requests, just the ones that have three chords in them and disregard the rest Seeking free beer and expenses I come looking for a job. but, I never get no offers, just a come-on from some groupie in Lower Sackville.. I do declare. I've had problems with my sex life since I fell and sprained my wrist, and, my other songs are just as bad as this. la la la la la la la.

On the stage I stand so bravely for a folkie is my trade and I carry the reminder, of every gig I ever played like at the legion, I fled in fear, with the imprint of a Moosehead bottle stamped behind my ear, and a voice that yelled Don't play that shit in here! la la la la la la la.

Oh, I've sung the folk tradition with my finger behind my ear, 'cause half the stuff I'm singing, I just cant bear to hear but, I'm an artist.. bar after bar, to the rhythm of a beat up old 5 string K-Tel guitar. la la la la la la la.

In St. Peter's town one night I clean forgot the second verse, so, I sang the 27th... twice as loud.. and in reverse.. and no one noticed... I took a bow, and, a long look at my wrist watch made some faces at the crowd. la la la la la la la.

I've got my act together now, I've got it figured out, dropping hairballs of string rosin, mainlining on Stout, and having hangups, pick up my guitar in vain, but, they're leaving, they are leaving, and the Folkie still remains in this cruddy bar to sing one last refrain.. la la la la la la la.