Oh, why don't you work like other folks do How can I get a job when you're holding down two? Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
I went to a house and I knocked on the door And the lady says, "Scram, bum, you've been here before" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
I went to a house and I asked for some bread And the lady says, "Scram, bum, the baker is dead" Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
--
There I am in Spookaloo, city of magic, city of light. Ensconced upon my porch in broad daylight, 'round about noon, my rising time. Drinking something of a potable beverage, playing my guitar, long after everybody in the neighborhood has packed up their lunch box and gone off down to Kaiser Aluminum to put in their shift. This enrages my neighbors. One in particular across the road, a little retired banker fellah, been known to cannonball his rotundity across the road, stand there and publicly berate me for my sloth and indolence. "Why don't you get a job!" He says, well now you've heard about all that. Well now me being hip to the Socratic method, fires back a question. "Why?" "Why" he says, taken aback "If you had a job you could make three, four, five dollars an hour" I said "Why?" pursuing the same tact. He said "Hell! You make three, four, five dollars an hour you could have a savings account to save up some of that money" I said "Why?" He said "Well, you save up enough of that money, young fellah, and pretty soon you never have to work another day in your life" I said "Hell, that's what I'm doing right now!"
--
Oh, I like my boss, he's a good friend of mine That's why I am starving out on the breadline Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
I like Jim Hill, he's a good friend of mine That is why I'm booming down Jim Hill's main line Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
--
I guess pretty soon I'll be heading back to Spokane. Take up my task of wintering in. I do a little light farming or heavy gardening, whichever. Do you know, that kind of farming is hard if you're in this traveling profession. Oh course when you sing like I do you've got to be ready to travel with considerable alacrity. I've got a Greyhound bus ticket in my back pocket all the time. But you see, quite often I'm not back in town in time for my plowing, or my planting, that's awful. Well now one time I was sharing a platform in New York City it was with a bunch of high power labor politic-o's. Uh, it was a benefit for the farm workers, that's what it was. I remember Richard Chavez, Cesar's brother was there, and so was Bella Abzug, former congresswoman from the state of New York, remember her? Wonderful woman! I mean she was loud, vociferous, big hats, she was yelling at that audience, a righteous beef it was, about how the Feds, the FBI, had been opening her mail for ever so long. Well, I knew the Feds had been opening my mail for at least twenty years, reading all of my personal, radical mail, and it never bothered me, 'cause I figured them Birds had to learn that stuff somewhere and it might as well be from my mail. But then it occurred to me in my predicament that having the FBI open your mail might come in handy. I sent Sheila, my partner, a letter through the United States Mail and I said in it "For gods sake don't plow up the back yard that's where the guns are buried!" National Guard rolled up, dug up the whole backyard in time for me to come back and plant the damn thing.
--
I went to a bar and I asked for a drink He gave me a glass and he showed me the sink Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
Whenever I get, all the money I earn The boss will be broke and to work he must turn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again
Why don't you save all the money you earn If I didn't eat, I'd have money to burn Hallelujah, I'm a bum, Hallelujah, bum again Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again Hallelujah I’m a Bum - Utah Phillips ( Harry McClintock, 1928)
