Jerry from Boston Story by Eliot Wilder

Jerry was a permanent fixture
In our crummy ol' part of town
He hung out by the bodega
Selling treasures a little broke down
You’d see him there on Sundays
Playing guitar in a wicker chair
Sometimes the drunks would hassle him
But Jerry just didn’t care

I am the King of Records
That’s what he’d say
And he was the King of Records
The king of the Fenway

Jerry would sell a whole mess of things
A curio, an oddment, and a novelty
He had books and lamps and old cassettes
And sometimes he’d give it to you for free
Jerry was kind to all of the kids
In our sketchy little urban ‘hood
Whenever Jerry came around
We knew we were in for something good

Jerry always had a smile on his face
And a pleasant little how-do-you-do
Even if he didn’t know your name
He knew you through and through

It’s guys like Jerry who make you feel
Like you live somewhere you belong
I gotta say that I like Jerry
That’s why I wrote him this little song

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