I Am Not Throwin‘ Away My Pack
I Am Not Throwin‘ Away My Pack
by Evan Massaro | St. Helena, CA
Song lyrics set to the rap rhythm of “My Shot” from Hamilton. YouTube audio of that 2016 performance here.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
Hey yo, I’m walkin‘ down this way,
Twenty-five klicks today,
And I’m not throwin‘ away my pack.
I’m a pilgrim on the move, feet blistered but I groove.
Tarred road, mud road, what road—
I got nothin‘ here to prove.
Got a bunk at the hostel where the snorers never stop,
Soundin‘ like a chorus line of chainsaws goin‘ pop-pop-pop!
Early morn‘, boots on, café con leche hittin’ strong.
Shell on my pack like a badge—yeah, I walk long.
From Irún to Santiago, Norte winds in my face,
Rain comin’ sideways but I’m holdin‘ my pace.
¡Buen Camino! to strangers who become your friends,
Walkin‘ one day at a time ’til the world suddenly bends.
I dream of Praza do Obradoiro, touch the stone with my hand,
But right now my feet are burnin‘ like I’m walkin‘ on hot sand.
Still I rise on the climbs, I descend through the pain,
I’m powered by tortilla and God’s steady rain.
And I’m tellin‘ every pilgrim on the way I pass—
When the trail hits hard, “Just walk yo‘ Camino ass!”
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
Hey yo, I’m walkin’ down this way,
Thirty more klicks today—
And I’m not throwin‘ away my pack!
Verse 2
The bedbugs? Rare—but yo, the rumors fly.
The snorers in the top bunk? Man, somebody might die.
You try earplugs, white noise, pillow over your head,
But Paco’s nasal symphony could wake the actual dead.
Then the 5 a.m. bustle—zipper-zipper, headlamp glow.
Some pilgrim rustlin‘ plastic bags like, “Why?” though.
But sunrise hits the meseta like a holy spotlight,
And suddenly every hardship feels stupidly right.
We talk blisters, tendinitis, lost socks, sore joints,
How the café in the next town is the day’s one point.
We trade stories—heartbreak, burnout, fresh starts.
Turns out every pilgrim’s carryin‘ two bags: gear and hearts.
I’ve walked with Koreans, Aussies, Spaniards, a nun,
A dude from Minnesota who’d never walked more than one
Mile in his life—but he said the same line:
“Every step hurts, bro… but damn, it feels divine.”
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
Hey yo, I’m walkin‘ down this way,
Thirty more klicks today—
And I’m not throwin‘ away my pack!
Verse 3
From the Norte winds to the Galician rain,
To the cows on the trail who don’t move from the lane,
To the bars where you inhale a tortilla so fast
You’re embarrassed—then another pilgrim does it too and you laugh.
To the stamp in your credencial, pages filling each day,
To the yellow arrows saying “this weird path is the way,”
To the moment when you enter Santiago’s stone square
And every blister, every groan disappears in the air.
And you drop your pack down—not throw it away—
But with pride, ’cause it carried you every damn day.
And you whisper, “I made it,” feel the tears start to flow…
But tomorrow? Tomorrow, yo!
Tomorrow I’ll be ready to go.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
This Camino gave me faith—
And I’m keepin‘ that grace—
I am not throwin‘ away my pack.
