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Description
I see you Smokin’ man, sitting all alone
Stogie in your mouth, a public bench your throne
Bundled up in jackets, a newspaper your tome
Your majesty, Sire, not a thing do you bemoan?

So tell us Smokin’ man, what bothers you today?
All the yapping ladies that seem to walk your way?
Maybe it’s their talking that lacks your classy wit?
Or simply that they speak at all which makes your old teeth grit

The Smokin’ man likes quiet. His peace is but his own
And how can he enjoy himself when the people drone?
He needs his solitude to perfect his many skills,
To contemplate his navel, and seek his mental thrills

The Smokin’ man’s done everything while in an easy chair
While puffing on his ‘gar with a cowlick in his hair
And yet he looks immaculate, he’ll never be forgotten
Even while his vapors are forever smelling rotten

The Smokin’ man’s head is always in his clouds
Surrounded by tobacco that puffs up foggy shrouds
Maybe it’s his way to easily be hid
Or maybe it’s to keep us from seeing what he did?

“Left alone, I want to be!” The Smokin’ man would say,
And yet the people flock to him without any delay
They want to hear his stories and his wispy speech
They want to learn of life from the greatest man to teach

He’ll breathe a raspy sigh and give a hearty grin,
And ask everyone “Why, where would I begin?”

Description
I see you Smokin’ man, sitting all alone
Stogie in your mouth, a public bench your throne
Bundled up in jackets, a newspaper your tome
Your majesty, Sire, not a thing do you bemoan?

So tell us Smokin’ man, what bothers you today?
All the yapping ladies that seem to walk your way?
Maybe it’s their talking that lacks your classy wit?
Or simply that they speak at all which makes your old teeth grit

The Smokin’ man likes quiet. His peace is but his own
And how can he enjoy himself when the people drone?
He needs his solitude to perfect his many skills,
To contemplate his navel, and seek his mental thrills

The Smokin’ man’s done everything while in an easy chair
While puffing on his ‘gar with a cowlick in his hair
And yet he looks immaculate, he’ll never be forgotten
Even while his vapors are forever smelling rotten

The Smokin’ man’s head is always in his clouds
Surrounded by tobacco that puffs up foggy shrouds
Maybe it’s his way to easily be hid
Or maybe it’s to keep us from seeing what he did?

“Left alone, I want to be!” The Smokin’ man would say,
And yet the people flock to him without any delay
They want to hear his stories and his wispy speech
They want to learn of life from the greatest man to teach

He’ll breathe a raspy sigh and give a hearty grin,
And ask everyone “Why, where would I begin?”