Outside of a Dog
Words and music by Christopher Kent
I used to know a woman who became a man — he worked hard all day long
 And he did all that one small person can to avoid doing anything wrong
 He traveled in crowds and he never spoke loud, and he always tried to look his best
 And everyone thought he was all that he ought, although he never took an aptitude test
 Most folks said he had a level head, and they liked to ask his advice
 Cause they figured he knew what was good and was bad, and they wanted to see what was nice
 But he never did answer their questions at all
 And he never had too much to say, except for
 “Outside of a dog a book is man’s best friend,
 And inside, you can’t read anyway.”
He never got drunk or believed in bunk, or was wanted by the FBI
 And he was never accused of being over-abused, although they never ever saw him lie
 In his garden he grew a tomato or two that he liked to move from place to place
 And he mumbled a lot about a burial spot, although he never could find enough space
 Most folks said that he was young at heart, though nobody really found out
 Cause they figured he knew what was young and was old, and he seemed to know what was doubt
 But he never did look too concerned at all
 And he never had too much to say, except for
 “Outside of a dog a book is man’s best friend,
 And inside, you can’t read anyway.”
He was eating a peach when the lightning struck and his luck ran out that day
 And they fired the maid when the insurance was paid and the truck came to take him away
 But they say he believed in being born again, so he was born again that night
 Though he could not remember where he’d been all day — he just knew he’d had a terrible flight
 Well, most folks thought that he was gone for good, and they did not recognize the name
 And despite the chance, they would not give her a glance ’cause she just didn’t seem the same
 But it did not matter, cause the truth was said
 And there wasn’t too much left to say, except for
 “Outside of a dog a book is man’s best friend,
 And inside, you can’t read anyway.”
Copyright 1975 by Christopher Kent. All rights reserved.
