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
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