Capman Bootman

Baseball cap and flannel arms
Dancing with a voodoo doll
Sweat rolls down the old guitar
Seeing things the way they are
A crooked look lay on his brow
Beside a wisecrack whiskey mouth
Tip up the bottle and pour him out
Here he is again
Capman bootman
Lay it down horizontal lean slip a finger across the bar
Whip the high note frantic
Skip the manic songwriter’s pulled-down rhyme
Then leave’em hanging halfway home
Surprise is not the same thing twice
Music is not your boiled rice
Here he is again
Capman bootman
Leave the making sense behind
Zen bazooka buddha joe
Cornmeal and guitar strings
Hates to fly to land and lives to sing
He’s got his cap and boots and coat
He’s got his box of songs he wrote
I wonder if he’ll find that note
Here he is again
Capman bootman