Scrap Metal Man

The honking sound of a horn, Invariably fills the air. Sometime in the early morn, No matter the weather, foul or fair. Up and down the barrio streets, He slowly drives his truck. In the cold of winter, or the summer heat, Hoping for a bit of luck. The scrap metal man, trailer in tow, Filled with scrap and rust. Just a little piece of the status quo, Covered daily in sweat and dust. No piece of metal is too small, He'll stop for anything. A bit of wire, some pre-fab wall, Whatever his luck brings. He does his part and earns a buck, Cleaning up the town. All he needs is a little luck, As he slowly makes his rounds.