In sunny Spain and cold England

There‘s a streetsinger

Timbuktu and Samarkand

A streetsinger

His music started long ago

It’s the oldest trade but one, you know


Streetsinger sing me a song

Of where you’ve been

And what you have done

Ways of the world, right and wrong

Oh, Streetsinger sing me a song


Guitar in hand, a drum on his back

The streetsinger

Money he earns, he throws in a sack


From his looks you think he might be poor

His energy keeps the wolf from the door


In summer last year you saw this man

The streetsinger

Playing in the street in your holiday town


Now winter’s come he’s wandered north

The new-born year will turn him south


Day-in, day-out he sings his songs

The streetsinger

Doesn’t take a break, he must go on


He tours the towns from summer to spring

Doesn’t always need the money, he needs to sing


His cold, cold hands work in the snow

The streetsinger

Throw some money and away you go

To the streetsinger

You might wonder why he lives this way

As you pass him on a cold, cold day

You might not think and you might not care

He could be living anywhere



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