Ridin' the Rails
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woo woo woo. woo woo woo.
woo woo woo. woo woo woo.
Hoboin’ is my game. B. + O. is my middle name.
I’m gone when that whistle wails and that’s why I’m ridin’ the rails.
Hoboken, New York, P. A., Sixty seconds is all I’ll stay.
Keeps me out of county jails and that’s why I’m ridin’ the rails.
Orlean, Kentucky, or the fields of Alabam,
roomin’ with a box of nails or peanuts and yams.
Got no next of kin and there’s no one in my will.
Only thing I’m scared of is standing still.
I’ll ride until I’m dead. Boxcar’s my only bed.
That’s home when all else fails. That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails.
Brush-fire Billy and his buddies Ned and Slim,
nine years back in Provo was the last I saw of him.
Brake-man leave me be, let this Hobo rest his bones.
Sleep will overtake me when that diesel moans.
That country’s long and wide. The Santa Fe’s my bride.
I’ll hop her when she sails. That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails.
I’m ridin’. I’m slidin’. I won’t last too long.
Got a bandana and a whistle for a song.
There’s ain’t no wheels on the floor of a jail.
That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails. woo woo woo.
That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails. woo woo woo.
That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails. woo woo woo.
That’s why I’m ridin’ the rails. woo woo woo.
woo woo woo. woo woo woooooooooooo.
Notes
From Dick Tracy.