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