The Busker

I used to be a busker on the city’s busy streets,
And strum my guitar daily to the tramp of passing feet,
I’d belt out the top forty in a rough and husky voice,
I didn’t have much money, but I had freedom of choice.

The busker has no bundy clock,
No boss hard at his heels,
He works the hours that he wants,
And goes home when he feels,
The cash in his guitar case,
Is all he has to live,
So give the busker all that you can give.

I fell in love with Susie, you was gonna have my child,
It looked like I would have to give up busking for a while,
I got work in an office with a pittance for a pay,
A wage slave working nine to five until my dying day.

Well soon I got promoted and I had to wear a suit,
With a barrage of expense accounts,
And the company car was beaut,
But I have to work back late at night,
I’ve got new staff to train,
Oh I wish I was a busker on the city streets again.

©Copyright A Jack 1986.

During a gig at the Pennant Hills Inn in 1986, I had a chat with Roger Corbett from The Bushwackers, who told me the formula for writing songs. I went home that night and wrote this song.

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