There’s a blues man in San Francisco who has a big old woman and an itty bitty bottle of wine. I’m pretty certain of this. He’s drummed this fact into my head, over and over again.
He sits down by the line that forms downtown for the trolley to fisherman’s warf, right at the spot where they use the giant disc to turn the trolleys around. He sits there, waiting for donations and plays the harmonica and sort of sings.
The same fucking song. Well, sort of a song. Over and over again. Every time we go there, he’s doing the same bit. The song mainly consists of him repeating the lines that he has a big old woman and an itty bitty bottle of wine. You can take his woman, but you better not take his wine. Sometimes he says he’s got some mighty fine wine. Sometimes he says he needs to go get some more wine. Other witty improvs like that, but I don’t think there are any other words, just repetitions of the same harmonica riff.
This guy is starting to get on my nerves. I know I should be nicer to the guy. He might be homeless and this is obviously the way he makes his money. Though he isn’t really old, he is on the older side. An old black blues man, and a Viet Nam veteran (according to his sign).
But still, couldn’t he learn another song? At the very least, couldn’t he do one that had more than just a couple line refrain repeatedly endlessly with a little bit of banter thrown in? Apparently not.
Don’t just take my word for it. Go to San Francisco. Go down to where they turn the trolley around by hand using a giant wooden disc. Wait in the line. He’ll be there.
He’ll be there and he’ll tell you all about his big old woman and his itty bitty bottle of wine. He’ll tell you how you can take his woman, but you better not take his wine. Then that crap will be stuck in your head as well.