filk bananas, filk bananas

[eor]

I haven't provided you with any filks in a very long time. Well, the inspiration for this one bubbled up while walking along the trail last weekend. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

To the tune of Roger Miller's "King of the Road":

Carry my old small tent,
room to sleep, somewhat bent
No cell, no girl, no pets
I ain't got no G.P.S.
Ah, but eight hours of muscle strain,
has me stumblin' half insane.
I'm a man in jeans, holy jeans,
walkin' the trail.
Walkin' through sun and rain
headed for Katahdin, Maine.
Old worn out hiking shoes,
I've got the raw blister blues.
I eat ramen meals I have found,
cheap at the store, in some town.
I'm a man in jeans, dirty jeans,
walkin' the trail
I know every path on every range
All of the shelters
and all of their names.
Every rockfall and even blowdown
and every spot to lay up,
when no one's around.
I still carry my old small tent,
room to sleep, somewhat bent,
No cell, no girl, no pets
I ain't got no G.P.S.
Ah, but eight hours of muscle strain,
has me stumblin' half insane.
I'm a man in jeans, filthy jeans,
lost on the trail.