he sits on a corner with a bottle in his hand pulling his beard barefoot cross the land eyes sunk deep wrinkled up face always packs a smile and a limp at a slow pace greets people with a could you spare a little? or he drops his hat and sings the blues the change falls sometimes his hair and his beard grow longer and longer holding his belly his hunger pains grow stonger. now to his favorite spot where the rich folk linger got some change? get a job through up his middle finger robot black suit breifcase raised brow a million sheep walk by lost soul same style oh the sweet sound is droppin in his hat he didnt need a map to know where hes at hes got wisdom and calloses on his feet to show for it change falls the magic harmonica paid for it i always wondered why he never tried to sell the art he made of trash how could he be so talented yet have no cash but he liked the street life and he saw a lot and lived and learned people saw him out there and felt sorry for him he just smiled i wondered how he could be so poor but so happy walkin around hungry with his hair all nappy just then, i seen him bum a gang of change from 2 old ladies turned around the corner and drove off in his mercedes