"Folksinger's Life" is a filk of a filk of a filk... it started life
as Leslie Fish's "Ballad of Transport 18", parodied by Frank Hayes
into "Pity us Filksingers", then loosely translated from memory
(and with gaps filled in the best I could) for the generic
Now a travelling folksinger, can't be choosy at all
You might sleep in a 2-star hotel -- or a stall:
Coming home from a gig, with a busted headlight
An old farmer agreed I could stay for the night
So pity us folksingers, where-ever we roam:
Now this man and his wife shared the food that they ate
For there's no guarantee that we'll ever get home.
Just some old cottage cheese piled up on a plate
It smelled kinda funny, and its color was grey:
So I took just one bite -- and they hauled it away.
"It's bedtime!" the farmer's young wife then announced
And up towards the bedstead she practically pounced
There was only one bed, and enough room for three:
First the wife, then the farmer, and finally me ("damn!")
Past midnight, the horses were kicking a row
So the farmer got up to see what's going down
Said his wife, "Now's your chance, lad", so quick as you please
I got up and I finished that damned cottage cheese!