Always hear tell of
those bad, good-ole days
from sad, beat old men
they all moan the same thing

You could just leave pie
to cool on the sill
with little to fear
from bad passing hobos

I’ve read my history
they did steal the pies
not every last pie
but they stole all the same

Now we know better
each home with a pie safe
top people have vaults
each holding some thousands

Rumors run round:
some have pie-buildings
secret locations
with armed guards and traps

More pies than a man
could ever slop down
completely secure
So these!! are the good days

The hobos don’t learn
it’s comically sad
so used to taking
They can’t break the habit

They hatch their vague plots
and die by the thousand
or carried away
to work in the bakeries

My grand-dad told me
that hobos were rare
back when we were fools
just leaving our pies out

But he’s got it wrong
mind must be fading
’cause we got the hobos
outside every door.

-Hap Houlihan