I pick up things
from off the street and sell ’em.
Whenever words
come to my head, I yell ’em.
They call me Hubcap Bub
because I’ve got a big collection.
Folks can stop on by my shack
and make their own selection.
I sell all but the shiny ones
for just a buck or two.
If you’re in need I also have
the odd glove, sock or shoe.
I make up songs and lullabies,
but don’t know how to write.
You bring your sleepless kid to me
and I’ll sing him goodnight.
With all the stuff accumulated
here within my brain,
I often think it quite unfair
that some call me insane.