Hobo Jungle

[Tramp]

Yeah, San. Thought some of the other hobos might see the light. Har, har.

[P&R Pete]

I was passin' through an Oklahoma town on that ol' bypassed highway, couldn't find me a ride. It was noon, and the sun lay hot and heavy on that dry yellow soil. Trudged up upon a wooden bridge over a creek, smelled some sweet cottonwood smoke and a sour stew, and some guys singin' a song to a wailin' mouth organ while they was a-waitin' their lunch. Dang if I didn't know who they was singin' about!

Went like this...

Some people say a man is made outta mud
But that poor Tramp's made outta muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that's a-quick and a back that's strong

He loaded sixteen tons, what did he get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call him 'cause he can't go
He owes his soul to the company store

Tramp was born one mornin' when the sun didn't shine
He picked up his shovel and he walked to the mine
He loaded sixteen tons of number nine coal
And the straw boss said "Well, a-bless my soul"

He loaded sixteen tons, what did he get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call him 'cause he can't go
He owes his soul to the company store

Tramp was born one mornin', it was drizzlin' rain
"Fighting" and "Trouble" are his middle names
He was raised in the canebrake by an ol' mama lion
Cain't no-a high-toned woman make him walk the line

He loaded sixteen tons, what did he get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call him 'cause he can't go
He owes his soul to the company store

If you see Tramp comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If his right one don't a-get you, then his left one will

He loaded sixteen tons, what did he get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don't you call him 'cause he can't go
Tramp owes his soul to the company store

[San Diegan]

Petey, you take the ukelele and I'll sing...

When Old Trampy,
Was a little baby,
Sittin' on his father's knee

His father picked him up,
And threw him on the ground,
And said, "This babe's done wet on me."

San

[Daisy]

How fun, songs about Tramp! I'll sing one too, somebody play something, here I go -

Dat Tramp he’s a loverly poet,
Nice av’tar too if’ed show it,
He likes fried tomaters and’e
drinks gold potaters and’e
drinks gold potaters and’e
drinks gold potaters and‘e
drinks gold potaters and’e –

(sorry, record’s skipping there, let me fix it)

zweeeeeeeeeeeeep-

- now he don’ drive South,
an’ ‘e’s got quite a mouth,
likes ‘is women small n’ red,
likes ‘is ‘possum good n’ded,
likes a boxcar for a bed,
likes dat sauce runnin’round ‘his head,
likes dat sauce runnin’round
likes dat sauce runnin’round,
likes dat –

zweeeeeeeeeeeeep-

now ‘is poems make me lonely,
so I gets to thinkin’ if only,
but I knows'e’s got a wife,
‘n she knows howta use a knife,
so pass the bottle brother please,
an’ don’ pass me anya yer fleas,
I wanna git drunk all on my’own,
an’ hope ‘e’ll read us another poem

Or something like that -

[Tramp]

"Some days a man juss got a target inked on his forehead, and no amount of Gold[TM] gonna wash it off."

[Daisy]

Oh here's another line I forgot -

an 'is cousin's name is Fred

Hey. Where's that highrailjon? I want him to sing a phuckin song for us.

[JimTT]

Campin Hobos stinking drunk

DO DA DO DA

[Tramp]

Jim, when are you posting some more of those wonderful vintage railroad shots?

[JimTT]

I'll see what I can do...DO DA DO DA

[Tramp]

All creativity starts with a belief in humanity.

Most single malt Scotch labels make better poems than what is
getting published today as poetry.

My need to love is greater than I ever thought.

Few things make you feel better when you are drunk than a freight
train crying like all love lost. It can come across a dark field, or down
a chimney, or out of a rainy night, but it whacks into your heart like a
damn arrow.

When in youth, you ache to be going, you suffer to be left behind;
but with age, you are relieved to watch youth head its way and to be left to
tend the home fire.

Everyone wants to write the epic poem, but alas, who wants to read
the damn thing?

Pulling on the right shirt ironed by the wrong woman can set a man
off.

Anything old enough is interesting.

An artist should only be obsessed with the last few works of his
or her life.

If you live in the right house you won't feel the need to paint
realism.

The reason most people can't see God is that they either look too
close or too far.

Anyone who sits in a bar and considers the rows of bottles before
their eyes, realizes that if they drink them all they will die.

[Jackie Blue]

I thought I'd share a very funny link with anyone that wanted a good laugh. The writer is not as funny as the subject matter:

http://porktornado.diaryland.com/albumcover.html

Those are some interesting thoughts, Tramp. Although I'm pretty darn certain that last one has been tested many times by many people. I doubt the thought of potential death ever entered their brains. I have some thoughts to share too:

The day you forget to lock the fence is the day your bicycle will be stolen.

The earth is not getting smaller - there are just WAY too many people and most of them drive SUVs.

Material possessions mean nothing in the big picture.

Cukaburas don't laugh when they are cramped in tiny cages. I've noticed that I don't laugh much either in that veal-fattening pen at work described as a cubicle.

[Tramp]

It's been raining here for a straight week. No wonder the fire is out. It's like living in a terrarium (however you spell that). A cold one.

[San Diegan]

Jackie,

Thanks for a howl. I was laughing so hard that the "Let Me Touch Him" description caused me to snort the milk I was drinking.

I needed that.

San

[Jackie Blue]

My pleasure, San. I lost it with that one woman's hair. Yikes! She was punk before it was popular. Makes you wonder if she had a mirror.

[San Diegan]

We have had some passings in this time. It makes a hobo think about his own mortality. With all honor, respect, and admiration I offer

That big eight-wheeler runnin' down the track
Means your true lovin' daddy ain't acomin' back
'Cause he's movin on, he's rollin on
You were flyin to high for my little ol' sky
So I'm movin' on

But some day baby when you've had you play
Your gonna want your daddy but your daddy will say
Keep movin' on, keep rollin' on
You were flyin to high for my little ol' sky
So I'm movin' on. Move on baby.

Mr. Farmer won't you please listen to me
'Cause I gotta pretty momma in Tennessee
Keep rollin on, keep movin' on,
Please listen to me let this rattler free
And keep movin' on
Move on ol' son, move on

Well I told you baby from time to time
But you just wouldn't listen or pay me no mind
And now I'm movin' on, I'm rollin' on
I'm through with you, too bad you're blue
But I'm movin' on
Move on baby, move on
I said move on, I said move on,
I said move on, I said move on,
Well I'm through with you, too bad you're blue
I said move on, I said move on
I said move on, I said move on

Words sung by Mr. Ray Charles.

San