Kate Wolf - The old street singer

^GSitting on a park bench soaking up the ^Csun Singing to the children and the ^Gpeople passing by With a bottle in a paper bag and a banjo at your ^Cside ^F

Anyone would know you if they'd ^Ctake the time to look ^FUnderneath those ^Cragged clothes they'd read you like a ^Gbook They'd ^Csee it in your eyes, the ^Fcorners of your smile There's ^Cmore to this old ^Gstreet bum than too many dusty ^Cmiles ^{G C}

A ^Gbed and a chair and memories on the ^Cwall In a city full of strangers ^Gfar away from times You've made that banjo ring in across a picket ^Cline ^F

You go downstairs and ^Cout on the street ^F Sit there ^Cwaiting for everyone you ^Gmeet ^C Some they ignore you, ^Gsome they ask you why Some they dance to the tune you're playing to the ^Csky

Passing through a city, one ^Gday you'll see him there Stop and listen to his tunes, let him know you ^Chear Put a dollar in the box that sits there at his ^Gfeet Tip your hat to the man who's singing in the ^Cstreet

'Cause ^Fif you stop and listen, you'll ^Chear it every time ^FMelodies a^Cround you, the rhythms and the ^Grhymes In the ^Cstares of passing strangers, ^Fquestions of the young The ^Cbarking of a ^Gstray dog and the memories of a ^Cstreet bum The barking of a ^Gstray dog and the memories of a ^Cstreet bum