CROOKED 52510 - NO MAN'S LAND

CROOKED - 052310

There is an outfit that hires Latinos to push these little wheeled boxes (some are actually tricycles they ride) cooled with dry ice and filled with all flavors of popsicles that they sell for 50 cents. At some point it became clear that there was a market for chips and sauce so the carts are draped with bags of chips. Each cart is equipped with a little bell, like the ones we had on our bicycles and tricycles when we were kids. Ding a ling, ding a ling. I think those recordings of POP GOES THE WEISEL that can be heard for miles have been out-lawed.
This song is about a little guy who is so crippled, his legs are so bent he bobs up and down with every step. It is painful, just watching him come and go.

CROOKED

There’s this tan little man when school’s letting out
He sells salsa and chips on his Popsicle route
He pushes his cart and jingles his bell
He gets 10 cents a piece for each ice cream he sells

He walks miles every day and has no guarantee
And he don’t ask for nothing from you or from me

And when he passes you’ll notice his gait
I’ve seen grown men sneer but he carries his weight

How he got cross the border’s a mystery to me
Must have been a dark night when nobody could see

Cause he’s slow and he’s bent and he’s crooked you see
But not like the senators who represent you and me.
It’s true he’s left his wife and he’s left his kids
But it’s not like some of our congressmen did

You see, he lives in a room with six other men
And he sends money home, what he don’t have to spend

So sometimes I wonder what’s ruining our land
Some hard working cripple or my own congressman.

There’s this tan little man when school’s letting out
He sells salsa and chips on his Popsicle route