My mother raised three grown sons, Buster, Bill, and
me.
Buster was the black sheep of our little family.
Mother tried to break him of his rough and rowdy ways,
Finally had to get the judge to give him ninety days.
And didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled all around, in and out the town,
And didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled till the butchers cut him down.
He rambled in a gambling game, he gambled on the green.
The gamblers there showed him a trick that he had never
seen.
He lost his roll and jewelry, he like to lost his life.
He lost the car that carried him there and someone
stole his wife.
Didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled all around, in and out the town,
And didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled till the butchers cut him down.
He rambled in a swell hotel, his appetite was stout,
And when he refused to pay the bill, the landlord threw
him out.
He looked to smack him with a brick, but when he went
to stoop,
The landlord kicked him in the pants and knocked him
for a loop.
And didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled all around, in and out the town,
And didn’t he ramble, ramble.
He rambled till the butchers cut him down.
He rambled to the racetrack, to make a gallery bet.
He backed a horse called Hydrant, and Hydrant’s running
yet.
And when he took his ladder out to go and paint the
town,
They had to run get megaphones to call that rambler
down.
Loudon Wainwright III guitar, vocal