I sit in the street and I play and I play-
Well- hey, it’s a living…or so people say.
But then it starts raining: Ah- here goes my meal—
I’ll just have a drink so, to fit my drenched feel.

And after it stops and I sit there again,
a bus turns the corner. My favourite fan
keeps standing and watching to hear what I play-
when all hell breaks loose- as people would say

The bus- it has stopped and its doors slide aside-
tranquillity shattered- for here comes the tide,
as wave after wave of these tourist-marines
comes storming ashore in T-shirts and blue jeans.

They quickly take charge of my favourite place,
they take up positions in front of my face-
my favourite fan being swept down the road,
and still they emerge- its just load after load…

I pack up my things and I try to survive
as the baggage emerges- I'm buried alive,
since they now pile their suitcases up ‘til I feel
that I should take cover…And there goes my meal!

Their cameras are real, and they fire away
at everything tending to get in the way;
there's flashes and shouting- I fear for my life--
the battle is over around half past five...

It’s now six o’clock- and the shops start to close
And people go home. It’s too late now for those
Like me who are trying to play in the street-
A tourist asks “Is there a place for to eat?”

So I show him the way, but before he moves on
He asks “Could you tell me another thing, son?
We’d like to hear music…So, is there a place
Where music is played?”--- I go red in the face…
(WJB)