My lighthearted ode to this particular pursuit, a talkin' blues.

You Can Be A Street Musician! Reggie Miles © 2008

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

Or for 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 constant tuition,
As some would have you believe.
But it is promised to every red blooded American
By the first amendment of the Constitution.
That's Constitution not constant tuition. Get it straight!

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 lover 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 up 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, a double espresso ice cream float.
With plenty of chocolate syrup,
A Mount Rainier 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 at the Mudcat Cafe looks like a good place to start.

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 sick, the tired 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 $30 a year to $50 a year!
Looks like I gotta git a job, just to be able to afford
To play music on the street music fer a livin'.
Hmmm! Wusupwidat?

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?
Yep, that's what I thought you'd say.
How dare she use them four letter words around 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 sharin' one tiny, litle, twisted up, funny smellin' cigareet.

No comment!

Yes 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.

Signed, Joe Street performer