Robert Frost

Robert Frost did write in settings beautiful and rustic
He wrote of rolling hills and green terrain
While poor me I must do my writing in the chaos of the city
Sometimes even on a subway train
How am I to ever learn about the woodlands
And the falling leaves of autumn and such things sublime
When I must spend all of my life truckin' round this filthy city
Doing what I can to earn a dime?

How did Robert Frost make payments on that little country place of his
Where did he get the dough?
Could he go down to the country store and sell a poem saying
"Here's a nice one I wrote 'bout the snow?"
Surely now he must have had a sponsor of some sort
Perhaps a lady friend who simply rolled in bread
A lady friend to say "now, Bob why don't you take a long, long walk and
Write whatever pops into your head, head, head."

She say "Bobby, don't you worry 'bout the mortgage
Bobby, don't you worry 'bout the bills
Bobby, why don't you go write a poem 'bout the fences
'Bout the neighbors, and about the rolling hills
Bobby, don't you worry 'bout the dishes, no, no, no, no
Bobby, don't you worry 'bout the pans
Bobby, now it is not good that an artist like yourself
Should be walking 'round with dishpan hands."

So you see old Bob was free to follow through his fancies
Wander through the woods behind the muse
Boy, if I had me a sponsor, I could follow through my fancies
Just to be in Bobby's shoes
Boy, if I had Bobby's life, I could be a hero
Go and find my fortune and my fame
Only thing is, I hear from people who have found it
That everything in life stays much the same, same, same
Just the same
Just the same