The Connecter

As a Saturday, I met a new connector on a high-rise job in May

Out west in Hollywood, USA

He boasted of the jobs he'd done, soundly good and wise

Red bandana around his neck, dark shades concealed his eyes

He wore a hand-toothed belt of leather

His hard head bore an eagle feather

Got himself a movie star, stabbed the floor with a sleeveless barn

But A.B. Pusher found out that they'd been had

Brat-blood face told the story, he was cursing mad

He was hot as hell

Out he joined this new connector, floating by McCollum

Four connector points

He boasted how he connected our jobs over hell

And all these tales were lies of all the things he never did

He go down to the operator, hold the boom, and swing it in

He would soon run off

For all the fibs he told

His spuds clanked behind him, he was walking down the road

Well, we might just meet again

More stories to be told

As long as he keeps fibbing, he'll be running down the road

He'll be running down the road

He'll be running down the road

He'll be running down the road

He'll be running