|So I tip my hat to the alley cat

as we share the dumpster's treasure,

such a morning feast for a man and beast

how I love this life of leisure.

At Armain and Vine there's a dole queue line

and the faces all look haunted,

showing tarnished pride hurting deep inside

with the dream of being wanted.

As the local bus makes a wheezy fuss

I explore the downtown gutter,

and my lunch is found in the kids' playground:

gravel rash on bread and butter.

When a passer-by gives the evil eye

with a look that calls me boozer,

I refuse to sweat cause his mortgage debt

labels him the bigger loser.

At an ice cream truck think I'll try my luck

so I ask him for a sample,

but he tells the kids that I'm on the skids

and my life's a "bad example."

A society dame with a hyphened name

tosses dollars and instructions,

but her look's so snide that I know inside

that it's simply tax deductions.

Now the noonday heat makes the downtown street

kind of way too hot for begging,

in a port-fuelled fog me and some old dog

fall asleep on level pegging.

Then the night comes down on this sad old town

to my old park bench I stumble,

as I fall asleep I'm too tired to weep

sort of proud and kind of humble.

So another night passes into light

you may label me as crappy,

call me hobo, bum, but I'll tell you chum

I'm a vagrant...but I'm happy.