Fleashine

Fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen

Brings the house in with a smile

All twelve teeth tell myriad stories

One upon one and one

The breath in his hand waving

Drives the gypsy woman mad, oh

She loves him anyway

Has told him so a thousand times or more

She refuses to believe that

At forty two years old

She's not still a butterfly

Ready, ready for the net

Bobby the fifteen is turning strong and soft

As can be seen by his patience with the animals

He used to hate 'em

Now lays down beside them

To keep all from feeling sad

As animals sometimes do

He dreams of being old enough

To marry the girl with two heads

Their name is Gladys

And they don't yet know

Of the young man's fascination

They're too busy drawing circles in their arms

A fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen

Floating into the next town

Puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle

And lays his head down

He puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle

And lays his head down