Well I quit my job down at the carwash. Left my mother a goodbye note. By sundown I left Kingston with my guitar under my coat. Hitchiked all the way down to Memphis. Got a room at the YMCA. For the next three weeks went hunting at nights. Just looking for a place to play. Well I thought my picking would set them on fire. But nobody wanted to hire a guitarman. Well I nearly starved to death down in Memphis. I run out of money and luck. So I bummed me a ride down to Mecon Georgia. On an overloaded poultry truck. Thumbed on down to Panama City. Started picking at some of them all night bars. Hoping I could make myself a dollar making music on my guitar. Got the same old story the moment I'd appear. There ain't room around here for a guitarman. Don't need a guitarman son. So I slept in the hobo jungles. I roamed thousand miles of track. Till I find myself in Mobile Alabama. At a club they call Big Jacks. A little four piece band was jamming. So I took my guitar and I sat in. I showed em what a band would sound like. With a swinging little guitarman. Show em son. If you ever take a trip down to the ocean. Find yourself down around Mobile. Make it on out to a club called Jacks. If you got a little time to kill. Just follow that crowd of people. You'll wind up out on his dance floor. Digging the finest little five piece group. Up and down the Gulf of Mexico. Guess who's leading that five piece band. Wouldn't you know it's that swinging little guitarman. "he was a degenerates degenerate".