Tramp Sandwich from Small Time by Pasadena Crab Sandwich

He was born on a cold evening in fall of '54, he traveled most his life until he died in that same cold, he carried tight his sixgun, didnt take kindly to lip, plucked an old plectrum banjo his grandfather gave to him.

Spent some time behind those iron bars, he's had his time to think, he's come to his conclusions, he just wants to cut the strings of this society, this cancer of public institution, built to breed born sinners and to cast their damnation.

He's wandered o'er backroads and the highways all the same, living from state to state without a penny to his name, speaking of, he didnt have one, least he never did tell me, the smartest man i 'never met', he broke away and he was free

He lives off his sense of self, he's singing on the trails, he's roped himself a hard life in pursuit of something real beyond a debt, or the ties to life destined for destruction, keeping pace with the troubles from his past, been comin back, been chasin him

• Folk
• blackgrass
• folk punk
• rogue folk
• Cheyenne