Down on the corner;
sunk low in poverty;
I ain't got nuthin';
nuthin' but this horn.

So I'll blow for you;
the bittersweet blues;
to make you feel;
what I feel.

The notes flow;
unasked for from my bell;
They reach your ears;
telling you who I am.

They tell of old men in alleys;
the children without shoes;
the poor lush in the gutter;
feel our pain.

I keep flowing;
from note to painful note;
until you feel so low;
that you toss a quarter.

My case is a receptor;
for blue peoples money;
if your down so is your money;
it always finds me somehow.

Let me show you;
how it feels;
to be lost;
in your own neighbourhood.

Down on your luck?
Just come listen to me;
play what you know;
deep down in your soul.

05/18/2003

Posted on 05/18/2003
Copyright © 2024 J. P. Davies