Hell, this is turning into a good ol' thread, ain't it?

The song below has the tune of W.C. It was written about Paul Durst, the hobo I've been talking about in my postings here. Paul did this song for me in September of 1961. A friend of his wrote the song for and about him in California many years earlier. Paul, 93, born in 1868, (parents emigrated to the USA in 1848 from Switzerland--settled in Wisconsin 'cause it reminded them of their homeland) Paul accompanied Buffalo Bill to Europe as a part of Bill's Wild West Show. He had a beard much like Bill's so folks with the show nicknamed him Buffalo Bill--- i.e. the name of this song about Paul Durst was "BUFFALO BILL". When it was discovered that all of the show's cattle had "hoof & mouth disease", the cattle were killed by the authorities in Germany and the entire show came back to the USA, broke. Bill was re-financed by P.T. Barnum---and Paul went on the road as a migratory worker, fiddler, hobo and a Wobbly organizer dedicated to organizing for his union. He told me they "organized" by asking riders in the boxcars if they wanted to become a Wobbly. If they said, "NO", the poor fellow would get tossed off of the moving train. Most guys--gals too--joined up on the spot!

BUFFALO BILL

I know an old-time friend of mine who traveled the hobo way,
From coast to coast, through Canada, or so I heard him say,
He rode the rods, climbed high on top, caught many on the fly,
And cooked his meals in jungle style while watching the trains roll by.

These jungles were quite plentiful along most railroad tracks,
Where many bo's were camping, some with bundles on their backs,
While coffee pots and kettles made out of old tin cans,
Were strung around the cooking place with many frying pans.

The reason for his roaming I will try hard to explain,
You see, those jobs were far apart and seasonal in the main,
For when the wheat was harvested the apples needed men,
This forced him to the hobo life with many of his kin.

Never underrate a hobo for he has wisdom too,
As the one that I am writing 'bout, he knows just what to do,
When times get tough you'll see him busy entertaining men,
With familiar lines of music played on his violin.

So come and see the double of old-time circus Bill,
Drop in some nearby tavern where you'll surely get a thrill,
I know that he'll amuse you while fiddlin' on a string,
But don't forget some silver--just enough to make it ring.

This is the early history of one who went through the mill,
He's nicknamed in the cities by the name of Buffalo Bill,
You can find him now on skid row with a fiddle in his hand,
Travelin' up and down the coast, this happy smiling man.



...and if ya don't believe me, just check with Big Mick.

Art