Beacon Street Blues

What sort of homeless person would I be Would I cart all these books everywhere with me Would I scream and shout to keep the world at bay Or would I nod and smile by my tin cup each day Would I dress real well, try to look like a swell Or would I let myself go, not put on a show Would I turn to drugs or would I stick with booze What would I have to lose Would I rant and rave about equality And how you look right through me Or would I understand - you need to keep what you’ve got You don’t want to land in this spot Would I have any hope, would there be any rope Gone are the jobs that kept the unlucky on track Now the squirrels are on crack, the humans on smack The armpit of L.A. gets hairier by the day