There's a kid out on my corner -- hear him strumming like a fool
Shivering in his dungarees -- but still he's going to school
His cheeks are made of peach fuzz -- his hopes may be the same
But he's signed up as a soldier out to play the music game
There are fake patches on his jacket -- he's used bleach to fade his jeans
With a brand new stay pressed shirt -- and some creased and wrinkled dreams
His face a blemish garden -- but his eyes are virgin clear
His voice is Chicken Little's -- But he's hearing Paul Revere
When he catches himself giggling -- he forces up a sneer
Though he'd rather have a milk shake -- he keeps forcing down the beer
Just another folkie -- late in coming down the pike
Riding his guitar -- he left Kid brother with his bike
And he's got Guthrie running in his bones
He's the hobo kid who's left his home
And his Beatles records and the Rolling Stones
This boy is staying acoustic.
There's Seeger singing in his heart
He hopes his songs will somehow start
To heal the cracks that split apart
America gone plastic
And now there's Dylan dripping from his mouth
He's hitching himself way down south
To learn a little black and blues
From old street men who paid their dues
'Cause they knew they had nothing to lose
They knew it
So they just got to it
With cracked old Gibsons and red clay shoes
Playing 1-4-5 chords like good news
And cursed with skin that calls for blood
They put their face and feet in mud
But oh they learned the music from way down there
The real ones learn it somewhere
Strum your guitar -- sing it kid
Just write about your feelings -- not the things you never did
Inexperience -- it once had cursed me
But your youth is no handicap -- it's what makes you thirsty
Hey, kid you know you can hear your footsteps as you're kicking up the dust
And the rustling in the shadows tells you secret
