Hoops Jumped and Juggled

What's the appeal of this three-ring circus?
The music's maddening, and the words are just hype.
Manure and popped corn has stunk up the big top.
Town to town, night to night, the act stays the same.
The same freakish displays, the same leaps of faith,
The same little man popping up in a top hat telling you,
"It's time to start the show!" But someone always falls flat.
I'm part of the act but I love to watch it unfold;
Possessing an obsession of gawking at the usual curios.
There's the acrobats who couldn't give a flying-fuck.
The bearded woman who's really a man with nice legs.
The geek who'll eat anything that's kosher.
The contortionist who isn't much of a conformist.
The bipolar clowns with problems at home.
The fire breather whose habit is huffing.
You're the act claiming strength, but can barely lift a finger.
I'm just an animal tamer, sitting on a stool, whipped,
Wanting to call it a night, but has this gnawing feeling that
It just ain't over yet.