Reminiscing On a Bitterly Cold Winter’s Day,

While Looking Through Old Photo Albums

After we got deported from Ireland

We Brothers Ed hitchhiked with our thumbs

Drifting ever southward to much warmer climes

Eventually arrivin in the south seas, as beach bums

As old Jersey Ed now pounded on his bongos

Edvard and I would strum out a sweet melody

The tourists would usually toss us a few bucks

We three were livin the good life, we were free

Every day we would get up around Noon

And we’d start playin our Brother Ed tunes

We’d always make enough money for booze

But our Beach Bum days sadly ended too soon

It wasn’t long before old Jersey had to have some weed

And we had to high tail it real fast back up to our homes

But sittin here today in this freezin weather and rememberin

Made me think back to those warm days we were on the roam

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be beach bums

Don't let 'em pick their guitars, and hang out on the shore

Make 'em be doctors, and lawyers, and writers, and such

Or they’ll just be runnin from those old lawmen, ever more

And if you’ve got a brother like Jersey,

He’s sure to get ya in trouble with the law;

But if he sends his two brothers Ed some cash,

We probably won’t forward this poem, to Maw

©2008, A Very Nostalgic Mr. Pee Wee Ed