© Copyright George Papavgeris, November 2002
Inspired by the" Busker of St Albans", John Breeze, to whom it is dedicated, together with my thanks for his support and friendship
It's Saturday, it's market day,
Everyone out to spend their pay.
But pavement's wet, and sky is grey
And people rush along.
They hurry past me, young and old,
Their dawdling children mothers scold;
And me, still shivering with cold,
I launch into my song.
No point being sensitive and bashful,
I don't pretend to be some music star.
And though I play just for me,
And most will hear me just for free,
Some people stop and turn to see
Me playing my guitar.
My guitar resting on my knee,
Its open case in front of me,
No better place than this, to see
The whole town on parade.
Some, pennies just like tears they shed,
Some send their kids to me instead,
Some drop in buttons, others bread
And cans of lemonade.
Some people look at me and turn their nose up
And right across the street a path they carve.
But that's all right, 'cos they don't know
How properly to count the score;
They think they're rich, I know they're poor,
'Cos money is all they have
Now tell me who the smartest is;
You rush along, I take my ease,
My music carried on the breeze,
My soul along with that.
So stop a moment next to me
And drop a penny, better three,
And if you join in harmony
I really will be glad.
No matter what the charity I'm serving,
I promise you that it's a worthy cause.
So put your voice where it belongs
And trade with me some chorus songs.
Together we'll put right the wrongs
And share in the applause.
So name the song you want to hear,
It is yours for the asking;
And fast or slow or gay or sad,
I'll give it of my best.
Get off the ratrace for a sec
And listen to me busking.
And if you drop a coin or two
Both you and I are blessed.
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