Hobos Lullaby

let me tell you about a man i know
who lives down on the range
let me tell you about a way of life
where the city ends and the road begins
when it wasn't so hard to just make your way
before the tax man comes and takes all your pay
then one day you get sick of it all
and walk down the tracks and drift away

it's a nice sunny morning see an old man yawning
it's the hobo, woke up underneath the grocery stores awning
grumpy and pissed, he shares his gin with his neighbor
"yo this city's gone all shitty, man, it's lost its gritty flavor.
now it's full of idiots who don't know nothing about nothing
kids these days, and their weak ways
he's sitting on stops and spitting out truths
His old ways worked going old school always
plus it didn't hurt to go and lurk in his hallways
just to hear him shouting to god he'd call all day
he claimed that he was aimless but you know that he was lying
searching for salvation but not exactly trying

his face is old and his teeth are gone
his pace is slow but he shuffles on
he mumbles in tongues and he speaks with a slur
and i swear if you see him you'd address him "yes sir"

the real deal hobo he ain't settling or stopping
been going strong from so long and still ain't dropping
people talk and stare as they walk by and glare
but they know they couldn't do what he could do they wouldn't dare
and he don't got a car and he don't get emails
he smells like an ogre and repels most females
cursing out customers outside of the store and
scaring the children while working the door and
no one calls on his birthday to wish him well
Sometimes the lonely gets him he misses someone who listens well
he hasn't had a friend in who knows how long
it seems like he's always singing the same old song

Chorus: (2x)
Day old donuts and cans of beans
Dumpster chicken and river greens
Hopping on trains with lysol for wine
Just another trip to the end of the line

raindrops trickle off his roof and seeps in
through the cardboard and concrete block he sleeps in
it wreaks havoc with each storm the attic creaks more at
it leaks into his bedroom like some bottles on the floor
his home was his his castle, his domain his home
and his pain grew so great it wouldn't leave him alone
on his own all his life, he'd been cast away
so he walks down the tracks and drifts away

As he lay in the shade by the tracks where he stayed
In the shacks that were made by these quacks who obeyed
No code the open road would give him guidance, they'd focus
Through blindness in a flash got a flask tucked in coat liners

the emotions run high, getting chased from the stations
when all you really need is patience
the night watch not on, they must have got their dose or quota
to coast is clear to stay the tracks like a hobo's supposed to

and a man like this is more than just a name on freights
he lives his life in crates and spent late nights in fear
and is forced into great laughter despite always having to run
real hobos don't slow down or pass a hodown

some hobos go crazy get a little liquor in em
get to thinking they're the victim too long to shake the feeling
get down, bow down hit the road, then the soda
had a bud in minnesota, hopped the freight to dakotas
he loved the motion of the locomotive
Running coast to coast until the ocean
cresting over rolling hills
and bustling towns and empty mills
It's the dribbles and crumbs
the north american bums
whatcha use to stir your coffee with
the spoon or the thumb?
hey where you going, what's the hurry, what's wrong?
you gotta go so soon, is the pull that strong?
well then i guess it's best that I say my goodbye
and may you one day find peace under these open skies
and maybe one day he'll forget the pain
pack it all in and catch the westbound train
but for now he's just hanging for who knows how long
just riding the rails singing the same damn song

chorus(3x)