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The Old Street Singer  Kate Wolf

CAPO: 4th Fret
You old street singer, some call you a bum
[G]Sitting on a park bench soaking up the [C]sun
Singing to the children and the [G]people passing by
With a bottle in a paper bag and a banjo at your [C]side[F]
Anyone would know you if they'd [C]take the time to look
[F]Underneath those [C]ragged clothes they'd read you like a [G]book
They'd [C]see it in your eyes, the [F]corners of your smile
There's [C]more to this old [G]street bum than too many dusty [C]miles[G] [C]
The motel room must get so very small
A [G]bed and a chair and memories on the [C]wall
In a city full of strangers [G]far away from times
You've made that banjo ring in across a picket [C]line[F]
You go downstairs and [C]out on the street[F]
Sit there [C]waiting for everyone you [G]meet[C]
Some they ignore you, [G]some they ask you why
Some they dance to the tune you're playing to the [C]sky
Passing through a city, one [G]day you'll see him there
Stop and listen to his tunes, let him know you [C]hear
Put a dollar in the box that sits there at his [G]feet
Tip your hat to the man who's singing in the [C]street
'Cause [F]if you stop and listen, you'll [C]hear it every time
[F]Melodies a[C]round you, the rhythms and the [G]rhymes
In the [C]stares of passing strangers, [F]questions of the young
The [C]barking of a [G]stray dog and the memories of a [C]street bum
The barking of a [G]stray dog and the memories of a [C]street bum

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