Ballad of My Coffeehouse Days

Got the idea from a TV show.
Or was it pictures in a magazine,
some kinda racket on the radio,
or singing stories on a movie screen?

I grew my hair until my parents screamed,
and wore my jeans as tight as I could stand.
I wrote some bad songs because how I dreamed
of playing loud in a rock and roll band.

It turned out I was never a joiner,
and I wound up where the folksinger plays.
At little cafes down on the corner
is where I started my coffeehouse days.

With a cheap dreadnaught guitar from Japan,
my ass alone on a line where it lays.
Somewhere between the fire and a pan
is how I live out my coffeehouse days.

Son, would you play for a tuna sandwich?
Sing to a small crowd recently deceased?
Yes! I’m your guy when I get a grand itch,
and my coffeehouse jones requires a grease.

These days they think I’m just an old stoner.
The payment never exceeds my outlays.
Existence has been just one big boner,
wasting my time with these coffeehouse days

Decades pass and I am never a star,
but that was never a reason to stay.
From inert hands they will snatch my guitar
before I wind up my coffeehouse days.

.