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Artist: Buck 65
Album:  Talkin' Honky Blues
Song:   Riverbed 3
Typed by: (with help from liner notes)

There's people living in the neighboring barges
Guilty of assorted compliments and charges
Like the one eyed cyclist who never wears socks
He covers his mouth with his hand when he talks
His name is Rene, they say he is a communist
There is something about his demeanor that's ominous
Gord with his card tricks escaped from the row
His mouth is always in the shape of an O

His brother is locked up and he awaits his release
He talks about politics and hates the police
Linda doesn't have long to live probably
She's wiccan and used to read palms for a hobby
She came to visit one night and just sat there
And laughed the whole time, her clothes covered in cat hair
Aubrey wears two watches at once and a bow tie
He is missing a thumb and nobody knows why
He's not the best ventriloquist in the world, but he wants to be
He's an excellent dancer and smokes reefer constantly
Big, fat Nigel works as a florist
He's openly gay and looks like a tourist
He's very polite with a good sense of humor
He's heir to a fortune or at least that's the rumor
Washed up and wounded, we are the recycled
Earthy, thirsty, sleazy and seaworthy
At the foot of the trees the tramps drink and they day dream
They use the fountain to stay clean, they're not as bad as they may seem
Each day they reenact the ritual of abandon
They sit there and serenade people at random
As the thought of a job and a bedroom refrigerates
They drift on alcoholic wings in figure-eights
Wine and water, regarded as stupid weirdos
More wine and water, they feel like superheroes
One once was a boxer whose ego remains bandaged
He once took a beating that left him with brain damage
One plays a horn and was born with a wooden leg
He plays on some days cause he feels that he shouldn't beg
One worked in the factory before it closed down
He's fine if there's plenty of wine to go around
Sunken and drunken, frustrated and lonely
These people don't die, they evaporate slowly
No matter how desperate, no matter how lawless
They rely on the river for some kind of solace
It sings to the softly and lulls them to sleep heavily
It's soothing and every bit heavenly
Each morning before they get into the booze, as they say
They usually give me the news of the day
And if it were up to them to shout the decision
An aurora borealis and all men out of prison