Brown water brushes, up against boulders

On Galveston Island sits my buddy John

He's been in the shop, fixing up furniture

Damaged by floods that have come and have gone

He's a modern day Kerouac, wannabe Banksy

Silent, unlettled victim of time

Now the cold winds are calling, with the North on his mind

He'll be leaving this island, for state forty-nine

Seekers, and searchers, and drifters like me

Let it roll, let it ride, let it be

Way up in Alaska, from May to September

He works off the coast, living life off the grid

Just a'haulin' up nets, chock full of sockeye

Those beautiful bastards are gold bars with fins

That Bristol Bay life, it's a far cry from Houston

Where all our old buddies where coats and wear ties

We'll raise up our glasses, because they're all kickin asses Most folks ain't wired like John and I

Seekers, and searchers, and drifters like me

 Let it roll, let it ride, let it be

He hauled in this season, over three hundred thousand Now he's back on the island, just a'driftin' away

He's made enough money, to keep uo this livin'

And head back up North to Alaska come May

So to all you young seekers, and all you young searchers And all you young drifters, like John and like me

Oh livin' ain't easy when you don't have money

But money means nothing when you ain't livin' free

Seekers, and searchers, and drifters like me

Let it roll, let it ride, let it be