Soul on the Ground

Recorder on
Face to the corner
Hat on the floor
Guitar strapped 'round
Suit wrinkled
Cigarette lit
Just had that numbered course meal
But in my stomach I feel an empty pit
Yeah, that hat
It lays upon the ground
Coverin' my soul
They won't understand this sound
But Ima gonna rock-this-role
I guess as the story's told
The story's sold
There's a price for true freedom
And ain't a soul alive not paying its toll.