You know what its like when you're listening to the radio, and a song comes on that you've heard before but always flipped past 5 seconds in and never appreciated? Then, one day, you leave it on and listen to the words and Eureka! You like the song. Here's one I heard today on MX driving into work with my wife. I love the craggy, disheveled image it gives me, of a gentler time when bums were called "hobos". There's something a little magical about a hobo, a drifter. Something completely lacking among the shakey crack-heads that try to grab your attention on seemingly every sidewalk in DC.
King of The Road,
by Miller Roger
Trailer for sale or rent
Rooms to let...fifty cents.
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but..two hours of pushin' broom
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road.
Third boxcar, midnight train
Destination...Bangor, Maine.
Old worn out clothes and shoes,
I don't pay no union dues,
I smoke old stogies I have found
Short, but not too big around
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road.
I know every engineer on every train
All of their children, and all of their names
And every handout in every town
And every lock that ain't locked
When no one's around.
I sing,
Trailers for sale or rent
Rooms to let, fifty cents
No phone, no pool, no pets
I ain't got no cigarettes
Ah, but, two hours of pushin' broom
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room
I'm a man of means by no means
King of the road.
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