Up on [unintelligible] hill, there’s a junkyard, with an old school bus sittin’ next to it. Has a few windows busted out, and inside lives John McCloud. Big John’s kind of a local legend out there, notorious for drinkin’ a bit too much, and every once in a while kickin’ up some dust downtown. I think he’s one of the freest men I’ve ever met

Wash the seats off

Pick up the broken glass

Tape a piece of cardboard on the hole

The good Lord once said "Big John, wealth won't be your load."

And now this junkyard school bus is my home

And the ladies are afraid of me, the young'uns, they are too

Bustin' out my windows as their play

But oh my mind is cloudy now, I don't mind what I have

Muscatel and a school bus for my nap

Oh, Miss April, a poster for my wall

All my action now's right in my hat

And I hope they fight those zonin’ laws

At least for six more months

‘Cause you know these yankee winds just get so bad

And the ladies are afraid of me, well, the young'uns they are too

Bustin' out my windows as their play

But oh my mind is cloudy now, I don't mind what I have

Muscatel and a school bus for my nap

Oh, I've gone a thousand places in my nap