There was a musician who rode with us
Anything else he would rarely discuss.
His only tool was his guitar
Keeping his skills quite above par.
Garbed in red, the man wore motley
When a joke was to be had he answered hotly.
He was a true performer, but deep in his heart
He knew he had not quite perfected the art.
His long brown hair fell down in curls
It was his main way to attract pretty girls.
His reputation as a gentleman was the best in the world
Though accusations at him were sometimes hurled.
When he spoke he was clear, crisp, cut and sharp
Yet the overtones in his voice were sweet as a harp.
He had wooed many a woman, all in fun,
But there was only enough room in his heart for one
Who he met in the summer, her hair like the sun’s rays.
How he longed for those long lost days.
Many girls had come and gone, aye,
But this one taught his heart to fly.
In his youth he was a devout Christian, aye,
But as he aged he soon fell away.
His eyes were green like money
When there was a dollar to be had, he took every penny.
There was no limit as to what he took
Money was everywhere and he dared to look.
His friends called him a genius, some called him greedy
He was always there to help the poor and needy.
Now that his tale has confused you enough
Let us go back to the story, and other such stuff.