WANDERIN MAN
“HEADIN SOUTH”
Labor Day has now long past
the leaves done already turned.
Most are on the ground,
an a bunch of em already burned.
Jist crossed over into Ohio,
headin fer Atlantic City,
got myself a girl friend there
and Lord she’s mighty purtty.
Mary is her name
she owns a little café
on Friday or Saturday evenin,
when I’m in town, she lets me play.
I been a knowin her
since maybe about 3rd grade,
way back there in country school,
oh the plans we once made.
Course they didn’t work out,
lost track of her fer quite a spell
then one day she jist showed up
to help me git through my hell.
She provided the shoulder
upon which I cried
as I tried to get on with life
after my wife had died.
Couple a times a year
when I’m a travelin South, er North
we spend a few days together
as I make my way back an forth.
She don’t send no invitation,
my reservation ain’t guaranteed
but on my way through town
we’ll tend to each others need.
I’ll scratch at her itch,
an she’ll scratch a little at mine.
If’n I stay fer a couple a weeks,
we'll scratch each other several times.
Usually I spend a couple a weeks
workin on mechanical things.
She throws me a couple bucks
as a way to support my wings.
It helps keep gas in my Hog
and puts some meat on my bones
It’s kinda like a vacation
from spendin all my time alone.
She knows I cain’t stay,
wonderin’s in my soul,
but after each and every visit
it gits harder fer me to go.
I’m a headin fer warmer pastures,
be a winterin in the Keys,
in a place they call Marathon,
a sliver of land betwixt the seas.
I’ll tend a little bar
maybe sweep some floors,
whatever they be a needin,
I kin handle most any chore.
I travel with my gitar on my back
but that’s not where it belongs.
Sometimes I play a little,
maybe sing a few hillbilly songs,
Though I writ a bunch a songs
I don’t fancy myself no singer,
but I ain’t afraid of no stage
an offin I come out the winner.
Singin’s in my blood
like it was fer dear ol Pappy
those times back in the old days
was when I was always most happy.
Pappy taught me a few cords
an I picked up some along the way,
so when sittin round the campfire
strumin offin ends my day.
Course, I also play the mouth organ,
cause it’s much easier to carry
I often leave my gitar in its case
in the care of my sweet Mary.
All my bein’s are in my knapsack
and what I carry in my saddle bags
I don’t need so much
just a change of these old rags.
When they git to looking shabby
or the thread starts gittin bare
I’ll visit the local Goodwill
they’re always willin to share.
Come spring, I’ll be on the road,
my journey not yet complete,
I’ll head fer the northern reaches
hopin to avoid the summers heat.
A detour through Atlantic City
where again I’ll see my friend
we’ll catch up on old times,
she’ll invade my heart again.
We’ll do a little more scratchin,
she’ll ask about my journey.
If’n everything works out
I might play in another tourney.
I shoot a little pool,
now an then, play some cards,
I’m not what you’d call a pro,
mostly I jist play with my pards.
I’ve built a little street cred,
though I ain’t a lookin fer no fame,
yet those who know me well
have come to respect my game.
When I kin afford a tourney
whether paste boards, or a cue,
I like to take my chances
and my aim is fairly true .
Mostly it’s just bar pool
or a back room game of holdem.
Sometimes the stakes are sizeable
but ya always have a choice to fold em.
They call me Wanderin Man
I try to be worthy of the name.
Each day’s a new adventure,
each town has another game.
Copyright © 2011 Richard Lee King. All Rights Reserved.
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