So every day they do get an engagement in London.
And every day they go--
the father and son travel--
walk past in through the streets of London to get to the theater
where he would play a concert.
And they had to pass by another man who
played the violin, another man who was Black,
except that he had a peg leg and he had a sack there for people
to put money into it.
And his name was Black Billy Waters.
His pitch was right in front of the Delphi Theater in London.
And so I just tried to imagine every day this meeting that
wasn't a meeting.
This is, "Billy Waters' Song, At His Pitch."
"All men are beggars, white or black.
Some worship gold, some peddle brass.
My only house is on my back.
I play my fiddle.
I stay on track, give my peg leg, 'thank you,
sire', a jolly thwack.
All men are beggars, white or black.
In the plink of coin and my gunny
sack is the bittersweet music and a life of lack.
My only house is on my back.
Was a soldier once, led a failed attack in that greener country
for the Union Jack.
All men are beggars, white or black.
Crippled as a crab, sugary as sassafras,
I'm Black Billy Waters and you can kiss my sweet ass.
My only house weighs on my back.
There he struts like a Turkish Cracker Jack.
London queues for any novelty and that's a fact.
All men are beggars, white or black.
And to this bright brown upstart hack
among kings, one piece of advice, don't unpack.
All the home you own is on your back.
I'll dance for the price of a mean cognac,
sing gay songs like a natural born maniac.
All men are beggars, white or black.
So let's scrape the cat gut clean,
stack the chords three deep.
See, I'm no quack.
So my only house is on my back.
All men are beggars, white or black."