Mungo Jerry is one of rock's great one-hit successes. Outside of England, they're known for exactly one song, but that song, "In the Summertime," is a seasonal anthem known by listeners who weren't even born when it was released. Mungo Jerry was a solid blues outfit as well — in fact, one suspects they were the kind of blues band that purists Alexis Korner and Cyril Davies would have loved, had they ever intersected — and knew how to get the most out of their jug band sound, which has helped them survive for three decades. The quartet had a pleasing, low-key jug band sound, folk-like but also bluesy, which was unusual in 1969, a time when most British bands that were into blues were shooting for high-wattage virtuosity. They sounded less like Cream or Blind Faith and a lot more like Jesse Fuller or Tampa Red, or even Piano Red (aka Dr. Feelgood). A self-titled debut album was rush-released that summer 1970 to capitalize on the hit "In the Summertime".Special Remastered Reissue include bonus track "Tramp," with its fiddle accompaniment and a decidedly mournful tone.Fantastic ballad!
Tramp
The sun was low, and the shadow was cold,
On the pale drawn face, that was wrinkled and old,
A newspaper coat, hanging loose 'round his throat,
And the shoes on his feet, strips of leather tied up with rope,
His uncombed hair, and eyes that would stare,
At the people passing by, who didn't know or didn't care
Chorus:
This poor old man he's all alone,
He's got no money or no home of his own,
The back street's his kitchen,
The footpath's his hall,
And the chalk on the brick work,
Are the pictures on his wall,
He lays down his head,
On the pavement that's his bed,
And when he sleeps, his dreams fade away
He walks down the street, with his hands in his coat,
Looking down at his feet, for a dog-end he could smoke,
He thinks about food, good drinking and good fun,
As he searches through the dustbins, his life almost done
Chorus:
This poor old man he's all alone,
He's got no money or no home of his own,
The back street's his kitchen,
The footpath's his hall,
And the chalk on the brick work,
Are the pictures on his wall,
He lays down his head,
On the pavement that's his bed,
And when he sleeps, his dreams fade away
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