In the depression-era folk tune “Big Rock Candy Mountain”, among the amenities mentioned in the description of the vagrants’ (hope that’s not too prejorative…) paradise are such universally appealing wonders as a “lake of stew”, and hens which “lay soft-boiled eggs”, as well as more hobo-friendly features, including a “cigarette tree”, “jails…made of tin”, and the fact that the “brakemen have to tip their hats”. However, one benefit described just baffles me, and probabaly speaks to my ignorance of the drifter lifestyle; the Big Rock Candy Mountain is said to be a place where “you never change yoour socks”. In my own limited experience, new or freshly-laundered socks feel a great deal more pleasant than ones worn for long periods of time. What benefit or luxury could be derived from not having to change one’s socks, especially in such a situation?
I can’t believe you just pulled this thread out of your “socks.”
I was listening to the music of “Oh, Brother! Where art thou?” this afternoon on the way home, and wondered about many of the things in that song. I was struck with “cigarette trees.” How this would never fly today as a thing to be wished for.
I can only assume that “moms” in years past told their kids to change their underware and socks daily(or often), and the singer was rebelling against authority, enjoying not having to change his clothes.