I’ve become a Key West street walker,
walking its sizzling streets all alone.
Won’t be driving in my hippie bus soon,
its transmission has finally blown.
I’m never without brandy for my coffee,
and I’ve never any money in the bank.
Looks like I’ll be walking for a long time,
with beer money from not filling the tank.
Putting important stuff off ‘til tomorrow
is an acceptable island way of life.
That’s why I fell in love with the island;
I'd have to be nuts to take on a wife.
Who needs those pain-in-the-ass orders
every damn day from some old hag;
busting balls to go make more money,
having to beg each night for a shag?
It’s really not bad being a street walker,
head held high and a confident stride.
On most days I find myself getting lucky,
when a tourist stops and offers a ride.
Where to, they always feel a need to ask;
(before stopping, they already know.)
Someplace we can share a stiff cocktail,
and discuss where we’d like it to go.
I’ve become a Key
West street walker;
seems tourists won’t leave me alone.
I’ve no plans for fixing the transmission,
as long as I'm getting laid or blown.
~gj duerrschmidt
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